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| Autumn on the River, 1889, John Singer Sargent |
The Scioto reclines,
exposes the withy brush
between sycamore-scattered bends.
A bough dips to touch herself,
bleached before an overcast mirror.
Muddy stillness resonates;
waters bubble and breathe
over unturned limestone.
Every wind echoes a low moan,
opens the buttons of her gown.
Those who are gone now
wade in the shallows,
scribble small notes
in the gravelly sediment
of her parched summers.
She does not share secrets,
rises and falls in mysteries
of moss and willowherb.
Sighs fog native banks. She laughs―
pays the voyeurs on the bridge no mind.
