The Stream (Laurel Prong, Virginia)
Nothing changes much more slowly here
than this stream in the wood that alters
with the seasons. The coming highways
will not eradicate its source, just as rutted
it remains from an ice age when
a boulder trailed a finger to carve it
in its bed. Not far from here in a cabin,
a president and prime minister decided
the size of the greatest navies of the world,
but only leaves have sailed on this river’s
prong. I have slept on its meandering
banks and heard the chatter of leaves
that have come and gone and wondered
how long stars will remain tangled
in the canopies above. Seldom does it seem
to notice man, erasing walks once set
by a small army of Marines. I admit
I have sought acceptance of my presence
before the quiet shimmer of its waters,
asking for its blessings on those I love –
the secret offices of my religion
in which I hail it as one of my saints.
• • •
Anthony DiMatteo’s recent poems and reviews have sprouted in the Cortland Review, Hunger Mountain, Los Angeles Review, Verse Daily, and Waccamaw. His current book of poems has been hailed as, “a rare collection, establishing a stunningly new poetic and challenging the traditions that DiMatteo (as Renaissance scholar) claims give the poet ‘the last word'”(Cider Press Review).