| Ephemeral Stream
This is the way water thinks about the desert. The way the thought of water gives you something to stumble on. A ghost river. A sentence trailing off toward lower ground. A finger pointing at the rest of the show. I wanted to read it. I wanted to write a poem and call it "Ephemeral Stream" and dedicate it to you because you made of this imaginary creek a hole so deep it looked like a green eye taking in the storm, a poem interrupted by forgiveness. It's not over yet. A dream can spend all night fighting off the morning. Let me start again. A stream may be a branch or a beck, a crick or kill or lick, a syke, a runnel. It pours through a corridor. The door is open. The keys are on the dashboard. Copyright © 2014 by Elizabeth Willis. Used with permission of the author. |
About This Poem "An ephemeral stream flows intermittently or seasonally, leaving a record of water, though there's rarely water flowing in it. You can find them etched in the arid landscapes of the West and Southwest. I learned this term while walking with friends in the hills near Ucross, Wyoming."
--Elizabeth Willis |
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