Flow and Stream
…the seed we planted
is not for this soil
it will spring out to meet the borders of things
to get to know
the passages to destinations.
What the road leaves behind
is a mite of mortality
seagull floating over the illusion of distance
we shall exist for a while among
the contribution of the waves
where the rock dreams of becoming a mountain
the grass of becoming a tree in the night
the horizon line thread of the ephemeral
the flower I could cut for you.
The river has many homelands
it flows, it doesn’t think
it flows loaded with seasons and people
it leaves behind it
watery moments
short flowery nights
on its flow to an endless secret.
