October Evening on the River

They've taken down

the shining light,

and over-day the river,

has returned to its

blackened, hidden self.

In that place of dreams,

night beds down,

forgetting tides and flow,

calling to the darkness,

arched as innocent surrender,

true to sightless possibility.

 Nothing seen, just imagined,

sounds of suckling mud,

as it flows, out of sight,

drifting in that way 

of pure, and endless being.

I step into the dream and 

have no questions, for all

may yet be made ready,

for the chill kiss of dawn,

revealing what has been 

born in ebony caverns. 

 Ephemeral the figures move,

drawn from Akashic realms,

dipping trailing fingers 

into the wash of waves;

allowing the drown of 

becoming, to release, 

bequeath, unknown treasures.

'What have you found?'

 The voice rides liquid crests,

somnolent, searching, sighing,

at the breast of Soul;

deliquescent dressing drench

of formless, rich potential.

'I found myself.'

 Evening moon glittering

on strewn harvest of 

luscious river weeds.......

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OCTOBER MORNING ON THE RIVER

They've taken down

the summer dams.

Over-night the river

has returned to its

drained and naked self.

In a dreamscape of loss,

the river’s bed has been

abandoned by water hurrying

away to the ocean,

leaving the dregs of a

false lover's lust.

It is a bed of muddy stones.

Far out on the bereft channel

a silhouetted man bends,

picking up things,

examining them.

I step out across the slippery rocks,

and ask, “What are you finding?”

“Pretty stones,” he says, “Indian beads…

This river’s been running for thousands of years.”

“You’re finding Indian beads?”

“Ah, sure, “ he says,

digging in his frayed pant’s pocket,

extracting a bent nail, a penny,

a paper clip, a common stone…

"Guess they’re in my knapsack”, he shrugs,

gesturing at the pack on his back.

“Okay," I say, sensing it time to wander away.

As I step back across the rocky sludge,

he calls, "I found a diamond once…"

"All right!" I respond,

and look at the muck

of the river bed,

morning sun glistening off

the dying river weeds…