Rushing water

At the edge of the stream
with my toes clutching moss
and fingertips in the rushing water
trying to capture a thought
but they’re all as fleeting
as shadows that ride the waves
over rocks and fish below.

There’s a truth in all the movement
around me in the forest
but the stories I tell myself are so loud
as to even make birds seemingly fly mute.
I’m learning to sing with them though.

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