The river flows
and giggles.
Sails wide unfurl,
the man in the bow
allows the horizon
to be born in his eyes.
In the man's hands
there is a land,
a shore,
for him to name.
The river flows
and giggles.
A willow in a sand bank
is no geography,
only a choreography
in the amphitheater.
The river giggles
and flees, in its flow.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
The river flows
and giggles.
Sails wide unfurl,
the man in the bow
allows the horizon
to be born in his eyes.
In the man's hands
there is a land,
a shore,
for him to name.
The river flows
and giggles.
A willow in a sand bank
is no geography,
only a choreography
in the amphitheater.
The river giggles
and flees, in its flow.
25.4.2015
