Flight by river

A water song thrown
to a dark night sky.
The moon’s not there
to toss it back;
she must be asleep.

Music lost.
A shuttered heart.
And then?

With firm grip to ground
and a look to a sky of forget,
we try fluidity
but lack grace of rainfall.

Called by the river,
aimlessly following waves.
Silvery edged currents.
Do they all end the same?

He tells me to drop my hold
on the wind,
stop my spin, face tomorrow’s sun,
and gather convening crows.

Smoothly whispering feathers
suggests capture;
wile and flight a guide.

A water dance held
in soft moss steps.
The river shares soft light
for lost comfort
before harsh morning.