As I am standing by the river there’s a flower. Floating.
Such a dark flower pretty.
One of its kind.
Drops lay down upon its surface.
It is drowning but afloat.
It is dying.

Eventually.
But I’m following it’s journey for today.
For tonight.
As I think about our lives that we have lived. I’m still here but you have crossed.
Over to another river.

But I still see you and feel you, energy coming.
Because those rivers they can cross.
And I’m floating.
Crossing too.
But I’m still here.
Watching.
The river, the flower and feeling.
Pain and agony and love.

And maybe one day there’s a flower growing.
Again.
I will lay my body down and cry.
A new life.
The next kind.
The river reflects the sun.
Alive as a river is a flower so new.
So old and broken.

So sad and so alive, so warm and so wise.
Because of watching and growing.
Drowning and dying.
Floating and crossing.
Forever.
You, me and everything.
Like a running river.
Or sleeping like a flower.
Floating.

💜🪷🥀💧