The river is a liquid canal to a pure thing,
painless as sleep
and silent except for distant laughter
over tan and shallow water.
The sun holds open the sky
for geese and green-feathered woodcocks
who, for now, also drift,
staring, audience to river currents
that turn underwater grasses
all in the same direction,
signaling some mutual spirit,
a place to feed, a way to go.
The canoe becomes a sliver of silver shell,
lined with iridescence of dreams,
from which I am born, watching grasses,
watching geese, and going slow.
Artist: Anne-Marie Oomen
Copyright: © Anne-Marie Oomen