Multnomah at Night by Carolyn Adams

From downstream, 

a cold push, a rush. 

Continents of water 

displacing. 

Grandmother bones  

of basalt hold it back 

only by inches, 

funneling thunder 

until it falls. 

Somehow, 

the night clock moves on. 

Animals manage sleep  

nearby, others stir  

in hunting hours. 

In the wild spray, 

ferns hold  

poised swords, 

lichens cling to 

protective stones. 

The cathedral grotto, 

in spite of other silences, 

shatters with  

dark crescendos. 

Carolyn Adams' poetry and art have appeared in Panoply, Amsterdam Quarterly, Visitant, Bryant Literary Review, and Trajectory, among others. Nominated for a Pushcart and for Best of the Net, she is currently a member of the Executive Board of the Oregon Poetry Association, a staff editor for Mojave River Review, and a poetry editor for VoiceCatcher.