Andrew P. Dillon The water may rise sharply She’s been written in song by the greatest of names. -Darrell Scott The Garonne would choose Darrell Scott’s voice, and sing, “I got this feelin’ this won’t be the same” —if I could get that bastard to answer.
I tried to crouch over the bank and dunk my head to my ears. I tried to cup the river like a first communion. I tried to rinse off deodorant and old sex, but all I heard were frogs chirping like dolphins. A pilgrim stopped and asked, Que-ce que vous-faites îci? What are you doing here? “Ecrire… poetry,” I said. Comprend pas. I don’t understand. Vous chantez? You’re singing? To get the river to speak, I had to sing: “She’s been sleepin’ it off, but some day she’ll come to” and it told me: You’re both made of water, which may rise sharply at any time. After the flood, life will team from every crevice. So drink.