By the steady river
there was time to waste,
and the grass was lain
drawn underfoot,
the earth’s frown
stroked blue calm
as a rope is swung,
left to lose its playfulness
across a water’s stretch.
Further upstream,
a few sycamore leaves,
they jumped aboard
on suspended twigs.
Taken by the ebbs,
flows, they moved easily
without thought of recourse,
some sailing boat
of life; unwritten directions.
I feel though,
nothing is lost
on such journey days.
Just under the surface
was all the known reach,
hand cupping the currents,
and for a brief moment,
a buried dream
surfaced from the cool,
refreshed for simply being
remembered.
