In one hundred years...
These snows will have melted
will have washed the Appalachian stones clean.
These living waters will have journeyed downward through the pines
downward from the heights
their secret labor hidden in the grasses and the vines
will have released them.
These snows will have sought their rest
by rivulet and stream in crystal ponds the light of sky.
You and I
will too have slipped away
as lovers sometimes do from gatherings
sought perhaps at first then not among the festive crowd
forgetting those they wished to please each other more.
We will have traced a silver stream
beyond the things we have to say our quiet minds
each given to the other and on to where the waters run
with careless steps regarding more our love than time
to where the waters rush together as do broken lovers
joined at once and not to part again.
We will have come at length upon a crystal pond the light of sky.
You and I
will have reclined in tender grasses water's edge
the very same that coursed the heights and leaped.