so I sit on the banks of Jacksonville’s original landmark,
the need to mark land and here, indeed, before there were people to do
I am sitting here underneath the Hart Bridge on a pile of concrete chips yet I could not be more comfortable.
What is this place, that has been here for centuries, that will linger after I pass?
I am sitting here alone pondering the existence of ‘ancient’ and ‘future’ and how they overlap onto my ‘now.’
What did this river look like a thousand years ago? Were the river grasses dotted with tiny snails then, too?