Caney Fork

	Shuffling slowly down the mountainside
	like an old man mindlessly wandering,
	playing out its energies
	along the roadside pavement,
	meandering first on one side
	then the other while I wonder
	why the road was built between
	the outer reaches of its pendulum swings.

	The Caney Fork of the Tuckaseegee
	is the mirror of me as I slowly descend.
	First I'm right then I'm left
	as I surge impatiently or linger apace,
	defining a space or ignoring a boundary,
	pondering aimlessly, an itinerant journeyman,
	following the valley to reach a conclusion,
	then losing myself in the confluence
	of a greater stream.

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CaneyFork River

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