The river runs deep and the flow runs like shallow streams
Joyous and searching for something like art searches for people
We come across such rivers and prefer crossing such streams
We cross into another forest that opens into open-ended inlets
Hidden fountain and the feelings are jocular and looking at the birds
Is lightly flying with the imagination, and focus on your eternal search
Bundling and huddling the campfire, now it's time to look at eagles
To sing and soar high above them, and escape the dirges of a journey
Reading books and music, and doors and closing boorish rapscallions with hitchhiking sticks
Pointing at the eagle in the sky, the inchoate still look to easier things
That's why the past hurts because it reminds me of such lost travelers
Lush green, boreal, call it tiagus, in the rising sunlight, the ice thickens and thaws