BTT #64: Stream

 

Stream

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What are you

That would make me stop

And visit

On my walk

When it is so heavy hot

That even the bees

Seem languid

And the trees spreading

Some little

Bit of green

And cooling shade are closer

Than the time it takes

For just half

Of ‘Layla’ to play.

The sun is

Stretching out

And burns the skin left naked

By the boundary

In my hair

And furthermore there

Is nowhere

To sit but

Down here next to you and stare

And ask the question

What drew me

To your tiny bank

So small I

Could have bound

You fifty years ago with

Just two shakes of a

Toddler’s shanks?

Yet still, I am here.

I guess I

Never saw

You here before near the

Starting of the trail

I always

Hurry to get somewhere

And looping

Back later

Before the dark I wouldn’t

Rest my weary feet

Pacing to

Where the car is parked.

But today

You made me

Listen to your silent voice

And rustling of white

Weed something-

Or-others blooming

In snowy

Petulance

And the lazy bending of

The grass showing the

Uncertain

Declension of your

Stream not so

Much downward

To the sinking past our view

As upwards

With unseen

Rivers returning

To that patch

Of lightened

Memory filling the large and

Sleeping field of blue.

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Posted for dVerse Poetry Pub Prompt “Descriptive Detail”  hosted by Frank.  Join us there as we get down into the weeds.  The Heaven is is the details.  Here is the link:

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Descriptive Detail

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All rights for text and photos to Lona Gynt, September 2019.

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  Photo by Lona Gynt.