This river runs cruel…
This river runs cold.
I know she’s lost in this wilderness, where the lakes are silent, dampened by snow.
Here, she walks on the edge of everything.
This river will meet the sea, that’s where all lies cease, for the moon has a crease.
And on the riverbank, all the leaves have fallen low.
No telling what they’ve seen.
I feel her body, right below the river’s current.
I think I can catch her, bring her back up, if only to the darkest of sunshine.
All light’s in a freeze.
My fingers slide on her skin. She slips through my grasp.
I look downstream to see if I can catch a glimpse of her.
But all is numbed by a ceaseless rain.
She’s not coming back no more.
She won’t come back no more.
(click on image to enlarge)
|Elan Mudrow on Fluid|
|artrosch on Fluid|
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|Arthur Rosch on Shelly|
|Elan Mudrow on Social Distancing|