Water Tells Stories
A singular current carries the sacred, the perilous, and the ancient world's…
Read more →Self flies from broken branch, hands shaking. Wind whips lake into frothing blocking chaos.
You close your eyes and wait for the augury,
sing to the brook while the balancing self
flies out and away like a bird
from a broken branch.
Your hands shake like rags in a gale.
With a hollow sound like a breaking pot,
wind whips the lake into bubble-froth
soap-suds, blocking the drain.