THE MOUNTIAN'S SIEVE
The creek ran yellow with the valley’s mud, Thick with the silt of a mountain flood. I looked at my reflection in a bucket of brown, And saw a thirsty man with a heavy-set frown. So I found me a tin with a rusted-out lip, And started buildin' a way for the water to drip.
Stack it in layers, build it up tall, Wait for the silver to start for to fall. From the muck at the top to the clear down below, Give it the time that a man needs to grow.
I punched some holes in the bottom-side skin, And that’s where the "cleansin'" was gonna begin. First came the cobbles, big as a fist, To keep the drain open through the grit and the mist. Then the river-shingle, small and round, To catch the heavy pieces travelin' in the ground.
I burned me some hickory 'til the coals were black, Crushed 'em to a powder to hold the poison back. That charcoal heart is the secret to the trick, It cleans out the "bad" when the river is thick. I topped it with sand, sifted fine as a ghost, To catch the muddy shadow like a sturdy gate-post.
Stack it in layers, build it up tall, Wait for the silver to start for to fall. From the muck at the top to the clear down below, Give it the time that a man needs to grow.
One layer for the stone. One layer for the grit. One layer for the coal... And a whole lot of waitin' for it.
I poured in the creek and I watched it go deep, Sinkin' through the layers while the world was asleep. A slow, steady drip in the copper-cup base, Like a cool bit of mercy on a dusty-red face. It ain't a fast way, but it’s the way that is true, Turnin' the river into somethin' brand new.
Clear as a Sunday... Pure as the light.