Aspen leaves floating
each a golden coin
made treasury of the river
Wet salt grass
leaf mold perfume her banks
Oxidized shapes gun metal gray
undulate in currents, beneath her silvered surface
Never one to deny her
identity
she flows
southward to a sad fate
Her soul
will twist with
insults
she must endure
Poisoned
made fat
with waste choking
on contempt
But here
in the mountains of her birth
her fate is unknown...
She carries
A golden cloak
on her back
She is
still
free
Mother Moon
gazes fondly on
her daughter's
singing
Full of joyous chants
soft lullaby's
She
sings to her mother
easing her passage
across
the sky
I crossed the river
Rio Grande
last night
Her real name
kept secret
With a solitary note
An Owl marked
My passage.
-Fin-
DS Baker
Ahhh, probably my favourite right now. Keep posting, my friend. Your talent is amazing. B
ReplyDeleteI am so very happy you took the time to read my work. Also thank you for you kind comments.
ReplyDelete