Heavy rain has escorted away the blue
green in gray tan muddied cuffs
amidst sirens of whirls, agitated sound
of rising water hitting sinking banks.
Currents like policemen direct flow
“Quickly downstream, watch that log jam.”
Two inches of bank reportedly eroded upstream,
cave-in, slides, Douglas fir uprooted,
ripples have gone expressive to angry,
rapids of alarm, danger now mad-dog froth.
Three inches, log-truck length bounce by
complete trees, limbs, roots strip-searched,
forced transplant of innocent conifers
with no trial, no jury, no counsel. Fifty-
year-old trees appear, roll, scream, disappear.
Perfect rain rising river gets away with anything.
Only we who are close to the river witness them go by,
stand there in our boots thinking, it’s just winter.
Terry Brix, a green chemical engineer who lives in Blue River, Oregon, divides his time among Israel, South Africa, Scandinavia, Iceland, Finland, Canada, and Japan. A collection of his poetry Chiseled from the Heart was published in 2000 by Vigeland Museum, Norway. His poetry has appeared in, among others, Dos Passos Review, Concho River Review, The Evansville Review, Fireweed, Curbside Review, Rattlesnake Review, The Antioch Review and North American Review. He is currently working on a new poetry collection written during his travels and a month-long writer’s fellowship residency at Playa. www.terrybrix.com