the flow of H. Upman smoke

The river flows forward
but the blowing wind keeps us back.
My teeth clench a cigar tightly
with smoke clouding the cloudless sky.
An oar in my hand, and also in my friend's, behind.
Or maybe a spear, as they would have had,
in New England on the river when leaves turn red.

My head is dizzy
but my lungs are full of life -
we are men.
I feel like a Native
as the river moves us on.

Mountains before us and also behind:
an adventure in every direction.
Maybe the West is gone,
but discovery seems to be around the bend,
under that rock,
behind the tree,
down stream ..
within our grasp.

As men we explore together,
with life in our hearts.
We are men that have come alive again.