Rosy Creek

Watching by a rosy creek

Stitching the words of silence

On the bays banks, a balance


They heal

measured, moderate, and steady

Punctually preparing keys

The silent locksmiths,

guardians and gatekeepers


Walking with the night

Floating, fluttering, flirting with the light,

Churning, chafing, changing

Chained to the heart


By the fire burned and blistered

Dressing and draining

Carrying themselves away, Returning 

Watching, waiting, wishing not to depart

Mending and melding

Gasping, “where to start”


Watching by a rosy creek 

A mark in the whiffling wind

A tranquil muse by the reservoir

“Is there anymore?”

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