Along Aquohee Creek

In the syllabary

Sequoyah made

for his peoples’ tongue,

the marks that stand

for rivercane

look like letters spelling

Tao, the Way—

the way this relict patch

of rivercane still stands

shoulder to shoulder,

rooting the riverbank to home. 

The way the people

wove it into their homes,

their baskets, and their lives.

The way the cane,

when hollowed,

sent flying home the darts

fletched with thistledown,

and all the fluted

notes that echo

home to the hearts

still hidden here

among the sycamore’s

white bones.

The way the turkey hen

bustles in canebrake

and the meadow

runs with quail. 

The way the water

rings the heron’s leg

with gold and flows

downstream

like tears.

 Written River 2:2,  Winter 2011