not really a river at all !  but a handshake between two great lakes, huron stretching to embrace erie in its green-gray grasp. you stitch the liquid boundary of a city dismantling itself, bricks unmortared, spires sagging, burnt out structures razed to open field. prairies returning here, foxtails and chicory, queen anne’s lace sways; tumbleweeds amble down woodward avenue, blow past fire hydrants, storefronts and rusted cadillacs.         we hope for better things. 

independent hank anderson.  🍺