Marilyn McCabe
FROM INVISIBLE RIVERS [11]
I entered the River sure I could speak its language and I thought I heard it speak of tender things, the softness of young grass, ease of a cool mound of stone, thought it told a story of slim fish and dragonflies. "But there is no language without deceit." And as I submerge, my ears roar with the River's revenges and petty grievances and I know I will try to rise but the River has found me and I am porous and half water myself.
Note: quoted matter (Calvino, Italo, Invisible Cities, trans. W. Weaver, Harcourt, 1974, 48).