that starts high in the mountains
rounded rocky bones barely covered by cold, swift water.
She grows fuller tumbling down
accepting side creeks with ceaseless, murmuring sighs
canyon creases carving ever deeper.
Sections of white water, white knuckled excitement are tempered
with pools of flat water, so clear, trout are visible
dance/swaying on in the current, on the bed.
There are sunrises, when all the wildlife seems to wake and frisk and call
and sunsets, light walking up opposite hills to fade away
to brightest stars I've ever seen, full of wishes and old, old song.
How quickly the change comes
as we flow ever down
and in the blink of an eye, the turn of a bat wing,
it's over and only a memory.
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