Living this close I can sometimes hear the song 
of the river three streets over, two streets down, 
it happens so seldom that it seems new each time, 
her murmur lost most days to the rolling traffic 
on 261 and the rumble of another coal barge
laden and low and destined for some crucible 
in the east. 

But sometimes, when the trucks are at rest 
in the WalMart parking lot and the barges are 
idle at port, she makes her way to me, wrapped 
in layers against the winter chill, we linger 
on the porch and I hum off-key and she seems 
not to mind as we celebrate the brilliance of 
Venus in the night sky.