Rivertalk.  Art in rocks and paper and a city with room for both.



If light can exist
inside black,
can sound be heard
in its absence,
a silence, profundity
without language
or warning?

Sit alongside a river,
a river oblivious to direction
or intent, indifferent
to sin or misconception,
where misbehavior is always
separate from blame.

To sit in close proximity
to that which does not care
or require our nearness,
is to sit to the left of love
or the right of salvation.

In either case, choices,
the really good ones,
should come astride
that raucous pony
with little thought
for us or crossing the river.

It already knows
the river has no patience,
no need to wait,
it knows whatever we see or hear
or think we see or hear
is momentary and is
carried away by the river or
the enticing gait of ambivalence.


While walking along the Truckee on my way home from seeing “The Lady in the Van” I stopped to take a picture of Reno’s Hobo Artist’s current work. I asked his permission to post his work with a poem of mine. He said it would be okay and then paused and asked what his cut would be. I paused, then laughed, “Wow, an artist and a comedian!”   – Sunny Solomon

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