Creeks

where seas start:

springs leak & snow swoons 

under sun & soon trickles

become inklings of headwaters

off spiked hills 

spasms of water splash, crash,

& make thin loud brash nervous

streams skating over slick slate.

off peaks proper creeks

leap in white waterfalls,

smash into crescendo pools,

lounge awhile,

then amble, then race & riffle

around boulders til they fall

again            listen:

there's a jazzy rhythm 

to high country creeks,

syncopation of gurgle,

trickle, rush, splash, & knock

see shadow and sun, eddies

and pebbled edges, deep

black pools, glassy sheets

under which fish shadows dart.

carved into loamy meadows

and farmland, catfish creeks

won't be rushed (hush, now),

quietly they tread over 

fine silt floors.

desert dry creeks--

ghostly impressions,

molds of pool & streambed

asking for water. lizards

scribble graffiti on 

parched sand. but then

sky attacks one day 

&  the memory of water

comes roaring back

creeks give themselves 

over to rivers that give

themselves over to bigger

flows & who knows?

maybe the big river can't

resist a coast & runs to a 

bay, to a sea, where

all the banks of rivers vanish

& all creeks sing together.

hans ostrom 2022