the river winks at me, I'm pretty sure no one else sees it.
water stirs me. it eddies and churns the gravel of my soul.
if it weren't for dusk, and its grand decrescendo -
wind that is like grace blowing cool to my nostrils -
and the promise of music that is freed from my diaphragm.
then i might not try to be a brother and a friend, or at least not as hard.
i might fail more miserably at being a lover.
and maybe even stop. cease my wondering. cease my hoping.
but then the river winks. the ripples lick my ankles.
like a little dog who reminds me that life was meant to romp through.
like waist high fields and shining puddles.
someone finds the flat stones and skips them over pools between rapids.
everyday tucked perfectly behind the horizon, fading as they leave.
the freshness of grace filling my lungs, and i must return the favor.
so I look for seeds and kisses to blow.
I feel a promise, sometimes in myself, often in others.
I wait for it, anticipating the words and its melody.
I continue wondering and hoping. I watch for winks from the river.