River in the Plain (Cezanne), Sonnet #411

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My Human Disguise.









The river’s over its banks — four days’ rain

Draws from its pebbled bed a ruddy stain.

(My dreams flood like this and fill up my brain —

Hypnagogic between shores of the sane.)

I slowly wade downstream and a white crane

Flies over, followed by an entire skein —

They pass me by with a clacking disdain.

I know I should fish upstream but the pain

In my bad hip will ceaselessly complain

If I try to challenge the surging strain.

The river always divided the plain,

Low at times, or high, as now, it will drain,

But some level of water will remain.

It has a life and purpose to sustain.