The water wilderness yearns to be wild, no more.
The streets: gone
once flooded with us,
not the stream
The dam: gone
once a force against,
turns to swim with the current
My rock at the edge of bank: gone, gone, and gone again
once my stepping, sitting, skipping stone
I grew alongside
While rocks don't grow they age
Not even a footstep
Could rupture these rapids.
Posted in response to the challenge Flood.
We stood at the entrance of a new age.
Past a garden of all we had ever known,
We found the gate.
Past what we were meant to know and created to be.
She wrote until her fingers carved groves in the silence and spoiled the blankness before. Then, she turned to each surface left unwrote and sang. The birch trees wept as she tore back the bark to reveal stories beneath.
I await you in the open grass–
The rolling plains roam my mind
Dark-swept winds ride the horizon–
Damp with the promises you left unanswered
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