at the edge of humanity’s consciousness
a river flows through guitar chords of thoughts,
rocks and
stones caught in its
winding depths

the river drags seafoam upstream
gently claiming it
as if that which it touches is it’s own
and always has been
the foam only shrugs shyly,
an awkward smile slipping over its face,
that adds salt
in pinches
turning to idle sugars

-would anything-

the river responds to the projected call of a sand dollar
one that waters could never have dreamed of holding
so serenely
and it’s
like the world is beginning
all over again

that’s how it
should
feel

the sand dollar answers in sweet
sincerity
lightly clinging to
the pull of the waves
and it would be perfect if not
for

-have happened-

heaven’s reeds are
the root of heartache
and they drift down the Lithe
pulling everything
angelically
destructive

-if I didn’t-

-reach out-

-my hand?-