too long the river has waited, dark water under a still summer sky, feeling her longing seep through the sand pull to the tide – but tonight the sickle moon sways in a cloud rushed sky and , frogs sing for the rain that falls and pours and spills, the pools that fill the streams…
coming home in the night the river still flows dark under that quiet dream sky and we fall to that flow as we fall to sleep and the water reclaims us fin and gill and speaks us silver ripple and quiet splash to the trees. if there was a long night it was dark and…
and sometimes the world sighs a moment – floats pink petals on dark water that flows slow-deep beneath old forest boughs heavy in bloom.
in the dark of the water deep among shards of light i swim the softing tide – thrum of river quenching my skin, playing my bones deer flute to the forest sky.