Sitting along a riverbed,
a line reaching into the quiet wake,
disappearing into another world,
one I haven’t command over, just hope.
the soil is rich against me,
only the soft tread of my sole leaves an imprint,
later when I depart, the rain washes away nature’s memory …
time touches the other world perhaps,
bringing some one or two toward
a universe their day had not planned.
How did the day’s moments transpire
to this bliss along the river wild,
a man in the quaint world of a trout stream,
all the angst and pride of society left behind.
If I remain motionless for a length of shadowy breeze
nature will continue a blossom toward a spring day.
One has to wonder how exceptional our lives can be,
rather than believe what just happened was wasted …
We do wish for that freedom to delve beyond our norm,
all relative reactions to needs become central as told
by that person who noticed we’d lost our way,
we’d gathered dust along the way, trying again
to rediscover some new reality to ease the pain.
Theirs is truly a freedom when lost without time,
all indications of certainty are left outside to dine
with the societal constraints of expectation.
There is that, piece of response to the outcome,
Speak well to the world outside your comfort zone,
and then perhaps, at that moment, might we fly free.