The River Speaks
The river speaks in semaphore,
a language of shadowed depths
and sparkling light,
it speaks in waves that run from the wind
rushing headfirst into the sand
as gulls laugh and crows scold–
and if you sleep
or forget to look or listen
it doesn’t matter,
the river flows on,
responding to the sun’s golden banderoles,
the moon’s silver streamers,
and time’s whispered words in each speck of dust.
My poem from the Oracle. I think there may be more to this one.