River Dreams

Through the darkest season,
dreams of the river carry us.

Current of memory…
the teahouse skirts
the rapids.

The sky, along that
far side of the year,
holding the light.

Shadows of white pine reach
the evening’s edge…
fragrance of cedar trees.

Nothing unbidden falls
upon our ears,
just this…

intricate ecstasy
of water,
pure, uncomplicated
glee of birds.