We Like It Here Beside the River

We like it here beside the river

that knows its way from source to sea.                  

We tramp its riverbank, cross the iron bridge.

At home we have it on an old map of the city – 

one that shows downtown territory and routes 

that take us through a place of shady deals,

past the house of chandeliers  –  

across the river and through the park 

where all the trees stand waiting,

either for the rain or that sunny day in April. 

The lights along the river 

make the river look like its playing with fire.

A river-wind comes with the tide

to sharpen the aroma of brewing yeast.

We like it here beside the river: men on the street 

are digging for leaks – water-burst, gas escape. 

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