I live where two rivers converge
where the city radiates outward
in hinky zig-zag streets &
Escher staircases &
church bells who toll the hour
a few minutes early.
All rain returns to the rivers
rushing turgid and noisy through storm drains
homecoming as sure as the geese
used to migrate south for the winter.
They have known the river water
as clouds in the sky, bursting
returned with it to the Eramosa.
They have struck dischordant wings, wintry thunder and I wonder
when they ceased flying south.