Distorted Passage


I swim in
streams and rivers
instead of on land,
looking up
through ripples
seeing mere refractions
of unknowns
filtered through milky moonlight.

Down small creeks,
under
branches splitting
the sky,
dark firs waving in
the breeze like monks
chanting,
and oaks bragging of age;
rocks and crags,
shifting, rippling,
dropping dappled shards of
sunlight on
crystal, chuckling waters.

In spring, the birdsong
coaxes the furled leaves out,
and enchants the forest.
The dawn flows down
hillsides like bronze-gold fire
and I, in my watery cocoon,
am under a spell.

Things skate around the edges,
we new things, like
larvae burrowing in the sand,
or peering with fearful eyes from
under rocks;
hiding, growing,
wary of hungers everywhere.

With the rains
flowing from all sides
the waters puff and
the inexorable,
invisible, seductive,
irresistible waves
of gravity pull us all
to reunion with the
mother of
all waters.