Today I go further upriver
on the incoming tide,
with the wind.

I walk past the native verge plants
and mansions,
and river.

I walk up the hill under the power line,
and even before I reach the top
I’m thinking of
the dancing of those men
who stopped
in 1879.
What started then?

And suddenly I feel the line that carried the dancing.
and the line that carried something beyond.
I feel the lines meeting in me.
The same or similar.
Differently.