morning poem #2, February 11, 2016



The river aches in winter

Gravity and, what’s more,

Its very spirit

Pushing against the hard ice.

Like all flesh

It yearns for freedom.

Its white cover a prison

Groaning as it tightens and loosens

In light and in darkness

Like tectonic plates.

It yearns, like us,  for that which it does not know

And to be barefoot in spring

And to thunder over boulders

And glide like a magic carpet

Over the miles of clean sand


Copyright 2016

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s