Bluffs on a River
Passing on the banks of the river,
bluffs on each side rise to reach a low sky.
Covered only in scraggly bushes, rock
bare and brown slopes and juts above the banks.
Rock gives way to trees, a puffed blanket draped
over the hills.
Passing on the banks of the river,
rocks and trees roll by.
The river below is still, breath held waiting
for a wind to ruffle the surface.
Today all is still, watching a snowflake
here and there, dipping and twirling to the ground.
The cloudy sky is gray, the river is
yet darker, and the rocks and trees are faded.
Passing on the banks of the river,
rocks and trees roll by beneath the grey cloud sky.
The mind wanders as it imagines times gone by.
Life runs deep inside the crusted rock and the wooden hillside carpet,
And the dry, cracked shell whispers of what’s to come.
So, passing on the banks of the river, I
do not gaze at the skeleton of a summer world.
I gaze at the firm bluffs, rocks and trees and river,
And listen to the singing whispers of what’s to come.