Oblation

We walk across the slim bridge.
Under us a fast creek flows brown olive in places the sky has given its reflection restful images of blue and swollen white clouds.

Green chipped paint exposes rust
On the handrail How many hands have held this rail?
Stopped here as she does with her head on crossed arms gazing
Into the clear moving stream.

Over and over water washes rock beds
Chatting creek in bubbling creek talk

And high on the wet sloping bank
A red tulip bows.

- Cathy Davis Amboy