Blow to the Soul

And if I were to leave this place,
to go down and break,
would the stars fall tomorrow?

He asked
shoes blackened by the moonscape
standing on the concrete weir
a broken bridge leading to nowhere

But the sky was blue
And the two boys played at winning the Alamo

This river turns over
and it curves and bends and breaks my arm
and if I fell into this suck-hole,
who could pull me back up
again?

His eyes blank in wondering
grease, sweaty ash in trails down his brow
he smiled, slight, pretended
his hand stiff as stone

But a dust cloud raced
And the air turned black, they turned, coughing

Below
from beneath the waves, green and blue blending
the trout rose
its mouth slow in opening
tongue licking the surface tastelessly

But the fire had turned the hill to ash
and they sat, watching the river that curved
feeling the wind that burned
asking
How deep?
How high?