The river we float has a pace

beyond the town’s prepared embrace,

as our untempered souls regale in

the submerged acknowledgments as life

awaits. The freckled shade of the shore’s

willow, a welcoming gift accepted

as an invitation to the confirmation of our

meliorism—we are selected.

Returned to the throne beneath the sea,

archipelago of clearing water—

our spirits, like fish in a chase full of play

in the stream, we stay in motion as day

turns to veiled night, our memories

a keeper of history within the depths

of our body’s own way. Currents

as lore—a pressing measure of time.

Freshets of joy in swirling binds,

the river ties delight the mind.

The tide-forged and river-hewed,

again, connections are old and new

in places the streams amend. Untold

illusions float away to resign

and rend as new currents in relief

as our affable faults of fate

relent and fade in proportion to flows

of sandy descents in the hourglass

of friendship. Today is a float beyond

the town—tomorrow—the wind sows.