I walk beneath the sandstone cliff
as if I were the first, as if
I were the last to know this place
to leave her prints in sand, a gift
to future from the past, a lace
of ancient toes and bones and grace
a wait, a hint of reverent breath
then onward with a fresher pace
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The river speaks and sings her best
The trees awake—they lean and bend
The cliff it seems to hover close
I stop my walk—I find my bed
along the willow leaves, the coast
of dreams, the beach of souls, a host
to sleep beside me warm as ghost
as sisters I have always known
Photo by Felipe Correia on Unsplash
