Sundown on the Blue River

by Ken Hada


White sun hangs just above the falls.
You look upstream at cascading water
immersed in sound, frozen by its frosty
foam spilling over timeless rock —
silver leafless Sycamores, rusty Oaks
yellow grass and green Cedar.

You turn toward the trail that takes
the long way back to your truck
where you will change
and drive home to a dark neighborhood,
light a candle and listen
to an aging pup across the street
bark the incessant cries
of being left alone.