Chord

Chord

Chord

Come the marrow-hours when he couldn\'t sleep,
the boy river-brinked and chorded.
 
Mud-bedded himself here in the root-mesh; bided.
Sieved our alluvial sounds—
 
 
Perseverating fiddler-crabs pockworking the pluff-mud;
 
 
(perforated) home-bank gurgle and seethe;
 
 
breathing burrow-holes, under-warrens,
   (pitched) pent-forts, coverts;
 
 
a rabbity heart-hammering amongst the canes;
 
 
bleat of something;
 
 
sleeping Mama grinding (something) with her jaw;
 
 
Daddy rut-graving gravel driving off;
 
 
the desolated train-trestle rust-buckling   —and falling;
 
 
an echo-tolling cast-iron skillet like a gong;
 
 
downrivering  gone  (gone)  gone  (gone);
 
 
Sylvia supper-calling her fish-camp fish with a bell;
 
 
putting her tea kettle! wren-calls on for the crying
   marsh-wren orphans;
 
 
R.T. tale-telling down by Norton’s Store
   "Where every Story cauls a Grief";
 
 
Daddy   —nine-eyed, knee-walking—   aisle-weeping at the Bi-Lo;
 
 
Mama mash-sucking sour loquats in the shed;
 
 
ire-salts quartzifying in the dark;
 
 
the caustics;
 
 
the fires;
 
 
far Fever Creek revival-tents hymning and balming;
 
 
bees thrive-gilding the glade;
 
 
hand-strang bottle-oaks (and intricated yardwire-works)
   clocking and panging;
 
 
Viaduct Forge & Foundry beating time;   
 
 
the bait-boys along the dock drum-dunting their buckets;
 
 
vowel-howling over the water;
 
 
the river;
 
 
RIVER.