On the River Near the Fifth Bridge

by Tom Sheehan

This morning the sea
walks up the Saugus River
chanting on grey cubits of air
talking sail and spar talk,
the way trees worry themselves tired
and ache like old houses the wind
has a secret desire for.

Birds, blacker than some thoughts,
make mischievous noises here
all along the brush path
through rocks, as tides turn
the out in and the in out,
a clock at midnight's exchange,
where hands make the decision.

These birds, raucous
journeymen at nerves,
pirates at orgy's wars,
masters of chord limericks,
hosts of madcap mornings,
only allow the sea so far
on this inland run.
If this is a paradise, they clamor
their thanksgiving.