Kanawha

Kanawha[1]
 
Where river-water stills, green claims encumbered banks.
These waters at rest along shore-line,
this is where life gets down—
                                                 fish or sand crane.
 
All the valley seems endless and still.
Evening fades, deepens.  Stars emerge over barges.
A churl rings the surface.
 
This calm whelms, makes mortal fact aware,
envelops anything drawn from shore or fathomed water.
 
In the sand, a half-buried tool-box is a killdeer nest.
 
Earth’s rim holds the crescent like a cradle.
From the highway and town, other sounds float down,
this late July, ominous in copper-tinted smears of cloud.