a day after groundhog day

 along the banks, a few

sandy pawprints, and collected debris.

the top layer of sand is frozen, underneath it's soft
warmth lingering from below.

above us,

the silver lining

a grey, blue silver lining.

covers the muted roar (less loud with the helmet off - must be loooow frequency).

and the trophy houses, from which

nobody throws stones (at least not in public).

and

our national fish bird,
carrion muncher.

soars. and.

I'm awake or dreaming, in the cold

i can't tell which.

(HOLD ON TIGHT MOTHEREFFFFFFERR!)

here is a mussel shell, impaled on a sharpened shoot, gnawed
by an aquatic rodent engineer:

there, a bleached crawdad claw,

ohh. impermanence. sigh.

the same old themes,
so what if the old buddhist is dead (bill murray's producer),
we are just silly little men in silly little boats,
while the water

312 tons/second, flashes underneath.