The Gods Are Stammering

Stray, ambling wavelets of the river shallows lap
At either bank, indifferently. This does not help

The shambling, unnameable beasts make up their minds
Which shore is better for hiding from the light wind

That afflicts cloudy thoughts with ambiguity.
They hang their shaggy, heavy heads uncertainly,

Turning their damp noses this way or the other,
Trying to glean decisions from leafy flutters.

That they have ventured this far into the sunlight
From penumbral haunts among the shades surprises

The brightly lit birds used to singing at the top
Of the canopy of glories unforgotten.

The unnamed beasts in their dark coats know nothing but
How much they keep forgetting, the when, where, and what

Detailing the origins of birds and flowers,
Of winding streams and wandering breezes, the hours

Before the forest held anything but itself,
Bare trunks with nothing episodic yet to tell.