To a River, From the Window of Flight 1914

Nothing relaxes like a river, I learn up in the sky. We parallel you, silver sliver, as the night grows nigh. Wander, meander — never pander. Slant supply, and then dogleg back— so effortless, doing as you please. Make me ponder graceful ease. You fatten and thin as you slide beside us, playful in a sleek and serious way. You split in two — an island born between — and then merge back to one. Your silver sword gets lost as the light gets less. You now look lake-like, dappled with islands; but I have to strain to see. Now you’re gone. I realize I never asked your name.