river tide

at the echo of
our moons wish
cold waters scurry

its plague of ripples
a long drawn breath
back into the lungs of the land

urging the freedom of its flotsam
that drag like windless kites on
a pulled sheet from the bed

this brackish pulse
held to the will of another
fulfilling a promise

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s