River at Twilight

The water widens
and quiets, content
to whisper against rocks,
murmur along with
the highway din.
Moving peaks and valleys
on its surface, light and shadow,
a thousand mirrors for the sky.
A silent gull overhead, painted
pale orange by slanting sun.
How many stories are here?
A party boat bisects the water,
like fabric being cut, then
perfectly mended—
the river closes, and
resumes its quiet.
Clouds like distant mountains,
one purple loosestrife
along the green shore.
Water, always seeking,
always speaking—
Listen.