Robbie Christensen
I haven’t felt the kiss of the creek
since I was a young man.
I often wonder who stood here, in this exact
place, 2000 years ago. Who was the man
who stalked deer and rabbits through
the swamp that was this business park, deerskin thrown
over his shoulder, bowstring taut
what name did he use for the wind,
who was his god?
when the weeds and ivy complete
their relentless campaign,
will he take up his cattail crown
and rule once more?