Up North

There’s a trail, bleached under sunlight,
                           that begins by a river that cascades like snow,
curved like an ellipse. The jargon of green
                           and brown hues dappled beneath a layer
of clear water, frogs dragged their bodies
                           across a small curb. A young boy dips
his feet in to see his shadow marred
                           above the crescent of the river, and
picks up a piece of charred wood
                           from the village up north. Halmoni once said,
there’ll be a time when the water level
                           slightly grazes the rocks and the remnants
stream down. Then slowly, it’ll dry out,
                           like a bag of chips. And maybe in a year’s time,
there’ll be a road that flows like the river.