Salmon River in the Rain.

   Say a name.
   Say how the churning river
   carries us all downstream
   regardless of our swimming ability
   or secret fear.
   "You look just the same,"
   we say to one another
   as a compliment. But how
   could that be? How could we?
   Having braved so many turns and rapids,
   crouching to pass beneath the toppled log,
   having skimmed the giant hole
   that could cause a raft to flip,
   we inhabit a new changed shape.
   A truer slant of bone.
   "I'm home!' we say. And it means
   everywhere, soon.