In the bend of the brook
my mind sinks away
between sun spots of gliding
water and suspended shades
of green. Nothing is floating
against the current. Under
the water level, I feel
space for secrets
shelters of what
will be the future, maybe
My friends light candles
and will talk on the way back
about the boys on the benches
but I prefer to sit quietly
under the sacred oak trees
in the bend of the brook
Chapel the Sacred Oak on the Beerze
(in 1400 the statue of Mary was stolen from the oak, but it drifted back upstream)
Collection “Webgarden”