I guess the Garonne would choose Darrell Scott’s voice and sing,
I got this feelin this won’t be the same
—if I could get that bastard to answer.

I tried to crouch over the bank and dunk my head to my ears.
I tried to cup the river like a first communion.
I tried to rinse off deodorant & old sex,
but only heard the frogs chirping like dolphins.

A pilgrim stopped and asked, Que-ce que vous-faites îci? (What are you doing here?)
Ecrire… poetry, I said.
Comprend pas. (I don’t understand.)
Vous chantez? (You’re singing?)

To get the river to speak, I had to sing:
She’s been sleepin it off,
but some day she’ll come to
and it told me:

You’re both made of water, which may rise sharply at any time.
After the flood, life will teem from every crevice.
So drink.