Gentle sunlight shifts in shades of pale estrangement, upon veins of silver memory that course through our boundary.
The rivers cried yesterday, perhaps for the lost nameless fish that ignited the night sky with a light only softness can achieve.
Whispers in woods spoke of a time beneath stone teeth,
when the waters knew secrets of the tidal brothers.
Flickering tales danced in moments too fragile to live beyond the fronds.
The birch tree knew these stories, yet its silence was compelling.
Lost beneath silted horizons—
is the story of tales untold.
Sometimes I hear the waters laugh.
Once, at twilight, the willows dared the daring sky and wept strange shadows onto rippling eddies.
The hollow reed sleeps in the silence of dawn, patiently awaiting another murmur.
What else can drift when the river fades?