Thoreau

Concord, Late May, 1841

by Amy Belding Brown

By the time
the sun comes up
he's been on the river
for an hour,
the water smooth and black,
pensive as any
parlor looking glass.
His boat drifts silent
beneath the trees
where pockets of birdsong
wait to fall and white mist rises
soft as morning prayers.
He trails a finger
in the water;
he studies the sky.

May 31, 2001

Copyright © Amy Belding Brown