On the River Findhorn
Steven Porter
On a smaller version of the great river
I sailed under the bridge on a makeshift raft
and sprayed the walls with names of bands and lovers.
I dreamt of leaving home for a squat in Wales.
There may be answers in this river
but questions pervade every nook.
Minnows dart through my brain
but you can't take the river home —
be content with souvenirs.
Weighed down with stones
I go home to the book of place names,
Fionn Eren — White Water doesn't quench my thirst —
be content with souvenirs.
I take a pebble from my pocket
and search for my own face —
the river and I are married in this way.
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