November 3: Cold Morning On the Connecticut

The deep part of the Connecticut River is
The dangerous part that you cannot see from the surface.
Its suck cannot be heard,
Nor is the magnetism of its pull measurable
Except by word of mouth and the stuff of legend.

The buoys bob, bounced by the waves,
Moved by the wind
That brings the clouds, that
Makes the rain and makes the river deeper still.

It is here, that I try to pray.
I am broken down and humbled
Into one billion moving parts that make up
This universe of water.

I exalt the chilled air around me,
And the warm breath that swells my lungs -

My heart is the deep part of me –
The dangerous part that hides from view,
That thumping drum that always aches
To make its way back to the start.