Another river up ahead without a bridge to cross. Another day to bury here where whispers in the grass make optimistic plans, but I won’t listen.
Just another a cloud away. Just a drop of rain to make the current that much stronger, and the by-and-by is lost beneath the silt and sediment and loosely rooted outlines of a landscape took for granted, these draws and spines of half-made mountains catching fog like lonesome breaths and postponed words I’ve uttered on an empty hope and so they evanesce.
Dissolve me with the clay and let my promise feed these rushes. For hills like these make sweeter air of tears in silence.