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.

An imprint
of dynamic wind moving clouds
sun touching branches
touching wings
of geese, swans, and eagles
gliding over ripples
of freshly-thawed lake water
pushed by wind
green waving sediment
blue reflection of sky
carrying seeds, leaves, and hollow
to another cove
of alder, pine, and larch
canopy of old branches
holding me
calling me
daughter, mother, sister, lover
of shadow
dance and color filtered
by wind moving trees
moving clouds
over ground soggy with spring.