With melon and sack, Feet bare and hair bundled, The girl stands long at the water’s edge, Watching the motionless floating Of mahogany and linen sailboats. Daisies, dandelions, clover, wild roses Blossoming from the bed of a dammed river, Trickle over the edge of a ravine Into a tumbling creek At the foot of a hill below the mountains. The water bubbles black with shadows Around a rock to a mirror pool, Decked by a patio of flat stones, Reflecting a dozen fat trout. On dawn black water, Mist breaking barge, Canopied with chamomile, Wakes to tea and cantelope: Stillborn fantasy, Dreamed in the music Of your long brown songs. A fire gutted warehouse Blocks the view Of the river that trickles Through a lattice of magnolias.