Gentlemen of the Rivers

The Gentleman of the River has passed beyond the brackish water
in to the great green-bluing unknown heavenly depths
beyond the sand banks of knowing and yon glistening rocks of faith
where the wild north sea of baying sea horses and moon-swell
cry like a banshee to the fishers’ wrecks

The Voice calls “walk upon the water of life”
“be still sweet tempest oh be still my beating heart”
and the shoraigs sing to the embers by the walls of Fisherman’s Mission:
(in autumn rain with arcing rainbows)
“give our brother’s soul a dram and let him rest forever”

Above up there beyond the Rallan is a new pool weeping quietly
where the salmon scarper like rainbowed silvery shivers
so soft sweet whispering for man to consider
a lament of farewell to a disappearing kindness
and to all the Gentlemen of the Rivers