Thursday, July 17, 2008

The Niagara River

by: Kay Ryan*

As though
the river were
a floor, we position
our table and chairs
upon it, eat, and
have conversation.
As it moves along,
we notice—as
calmly as though
dining room paintings
were being replaced—
the changing scenes
along the shore. We
do know, we do
know this is the
Niagara River, but
it is hard to remember
what that means.

*(The author of this, and many other fantastic poems, has just been named America's poet laureate.)

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