The River Speaks

Renoir, The Seine at Chatou

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.

36 thoughts on “The River Speaks

  1. I particuarly like this metaphor:

    it speaks in waves that run from the wind
    rushing headfirst into the sand.

    I like the semaphore metaphor, too. Each river does seem to have a language all its own.

  2. Fabulous, Merril!
    So many things don’t matter, if we are unaware.
    I suppose that’s why many stick their heads in the sand; to be unaware.

    I feel you are aware. I feel you are aware that there are many things that you are unaware of.
    The river calls.

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