The frost-licked riverbank drinks water
That dances over centuries-smoothed stones
With ancient limbs.
These river rocks murmur ballads, sometimes:
Stories of the dead and gone and of those
Who have yet to feel the weight of pebbles on their eyes.
Green girl, you need not see with your liquid gaze,
For the river remembers, and it sings to you.
It has since it moved under granite and clay,
And you pressed your ear to the soft summer grass,
Humming a forgotten harmony. Green Girl,
With your Green thumb, you could pick a violet
And two more would grow. Your is the melody of wind—
Autumn leaves rustling, a dust storm
Sweeping through empty rooms.
Turn your ear from honeyed music vows,
From the ebb and flow of bloody tributaries.
They know what they are but not what they may be,
Only listening for echoes.
Elemental creature, they shut you in that silent tomb
And made you tie your daisy chain into a noose.
Your watery words slipped through human hands again
But will find their way back to the river.
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