Creek Near Leesburg


A refrigerator
Dumped in the creek,
With a frame of mattress-springs:
Rust crawls under white enamels
Like water opening under ice.

I look hard; I am a reporter
Of the unimportant:
That the whole woods is red,
The dullish colors of rust and dead lumber
Fallen into afternoon light.

I want to know
What is not news:
The creek flooding a narrow oven
Dumped from the bank upstream,
Wedged half-submerged and battered against rocks;

The rust crinkling under industrial paint,
The slowly rising water;
Whatever we cannot invent, being part of.
These things
Survive any commentary.