I live now by moving water, on the banks of the Chena
river in Fairbanks, Alaska.
You can't tell that it's moving, right now, because it's
iced over.
It's a highway for snow machines, and skiers,
and skijors.
But all summer, when there is no dark,
it's a highway for boats, of course.
This one's called "July Twilight on the Chena."
And it-- twilight's usually between about midnight and 1:00
o'clock.
"Red fox on the riverbank leaps downed birch--
two, three-- what he's after scrambling,
invisible from our riverboat.
Red fox, skinny shins flailing, dives out of sight.
Moist dirt shelters him, absorbs the inked tip
of his lavish tail.
His secrets are his.
Bright salmon-- breaching-- keep secrets too.
Beavers chew vein-rich silver alder,
every mouthful a word, a world untold."