The Sunday Poet: Bert Stern

Poet Bert Stern

THINGS WHERE THEY SHOULD BE   

  

I’d been sitting by the river all afternoon 

and now the sun was going down and Venus 

shone on the horizon.  I’d been sitting 

to watch how the water swirled into braids 

  

and swirled out again.  I was watching 

a leaf ride the river until, drawn into 

sluggish water near the bank it rested there. 

Evening fell but the full moon made 

the moving water sparkle. 

Quite late a trail took me up the long bank 

and across a rough meadow home. But before 

I climbed the porch steps I stopped and listened 

to distant water and a single owl. 

  

Above me Orion was still in place,   

so I went in to sleep in a room whose floor 

was earth and whose ceiling was moonlight.   

  

All night as I slept, in generous swirls 

the river pursued its intricate dance, as if 

it were still learning.