The Henty River

This river is so still its greens connive
to move without a change of place. It holds
the forest and the forest holds the river.

We've stopped between the towns of Strahan and Zeehan
to roll a cigarette and let the stillness
take our lives from time. This is not August,

this is not afternoon. This is green,
meaning river, stillness meaning forest,
and each is different, and is the same.

It's utterly inhuman, like paradise.
To leave this bridge and enter trees or water
is movement we can make if we become

molecules or the quality of green;
this is now happening. The silence is
as deep as memory. The stillness is

as whole as time. Strahan and Zeehan are now
remote as what might have happened. We've seen our home,
unearthly calm, the greens of deepest yearning,

and may not do so in our lives again.