She turns back home as spirits wake and drift
down ravine to splash water on their faces.
Autumn carries the coho along creek’s thin waters.
Some are seized by abandoned bridge,
their guts nourish creek’s silken waters.

(Part 2 of 2! ✌️💧)

She buries her feet in quiet current,
saves the bridge for someone else.
Strings of algae and infant minnows
kiss her ankles a reminder
of creek’s elusive path.

Ditch water streams into the tender creek,
merging with rain that descends the ravine
if spruce and fern feel no thirst.
Spruce and fern shade the modest creek
where darkness warmly breeds.
Some days she builds a bridge
of marbled brick stained stepping stones
across creek’s murky rumbles.

Imagine someone saying it’s just you

They’d try to hold their bodies still against the pressing
of the river’s purpose, opening their mouths to drink in
the elixir and anchor themselves
to the moment.

(Written some 8 years ago. About home. Who I miss a little more deeply lately.)

(How cold the water felt against their eyes
as they watched their own legs stumble the course
and thought how alien their flesh looked in this world!)

With time the line became a wall and the current rested,
instead spilling over the top and sides like melted glass so
the children climbed the boulders to feel the warm sun
and clear air and jumped into their swimming hole.

The children talked loudly, just under a shout,
so to catch each other’s voices over the river’s calls
as they carried heavy stones from the shore into the rolls,
each stone in the line making the current
more persistent in his attempt to continue his sequence
and pour into the breathing Sound.

The river was strong enough to tell your mother
you spent the day at the playground instead and a black lab
with white paws once stopped for a drink
of solace but Stawamus cradled her body into his
and they left a sun-sparkled trail as they carried on.

Their feet numbed and turned a red that leapt out
from the otherwise vibrant gray scene that can only be true
if you’ve felt the sharp inhale from the day
’s first plunge into his roaring grasp.

With time the line became a wall and the current rested,
instead spilling over the top and sides like melted glass so
the children climbed the boulders to feel the warm sun
and clear air and jumped into their swimming hole.

The children talked loudly just under a shout,
so to catch each others voices over the river’s calls
as they carried heavy stones from the shore into the rolls,
each stone in the line making the current
more persistent in his attempt to continue his sequence
and pour into the breathing Sound.

The river was strong enough to tell your mother
you spent the day at the playground instead and a black lab
with white paws once stopped for a drink
of solace but Stawamus cradled her body into his
and they left a sun-sparkled trail as they carried on.

Their feet numbed and turned a red that leapt out
from the otherwise vibrant gray scene that can only be true
if you’ve felt the sharp inhale from the day
’s first plunge into his roaring grasp.

Say more! (On YouTube exclusive content, etc?!) So curious about the way their come to jezus will unfold