The Process Through Which Motive Is Discovered

Brent Long

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Times when the river burns
flags fill with smoke

and the moon shows
snow geese where to fly

The current stirs its black soup
music is no sanctuary
at this hour

While the earth
grinding on its axis
spins and quivers in the throes
of its primordial fuck

Reminding us that it is circumstance
not intention
which determines the outcome of morning

A mayfly snags its wings
on a single strand of web
struggles, breaks free

We could do this if we wanted:

Waking on a beach from a dream full of pigment

Sometimes it is a night without walls

The 2River View, 2_2 (Winter 1997)