John Samuel Tieman: A Benediction

Who would have guessed, feeling the ancient
river as I board the ferry, that the Mississippi flows
slower than my veins? Who would have thought
a pulse could flow downstream?
Someone on shore waves to someone
I can’t find on the other side.
It’s times like this that I bless the Piasa
Bird painted on the bluff and pray
another prayer to the god we’ve all forgotten.