Island in the river

Now in young night no
new boats bobbed up
After last with crackling
women and suitcases
And their men dragging
the coasters on road.

The river’s night echoed
with a tourist bubble
That would settle down
to a bottom of night.
A black dog is curled up
to the human corner.

The river is not all that
recent of soft ripples.
It has come from a past
of the far mountains
And is curled up like
black dog around island.

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