paulhp poetry

my eyes must follow
the metalled river
a mirage of ripples
troubled by a northern air
that breaks on my face
a warm breath shy of a slap

and a sister wind pricks
a memory with an offering
of the water’s sweet decay
taking me inwards
taking me backwards
but I cannot stay too long

and must move on as
this silver hushed slip surely will
devoid of her own guideance
she disolves herself with the sea
and taken up as airborne spores
to form and fall and flow again