The rivulet

Wandered out from

Its wintry fugue

 

Summoned

By the fragrance

Of sun-warmed pines

 

Making its debut

From frozen grief

Entombed

 

Under stoic boulders

And granitic soil

Timeworn and ancient

 

Time purifies

Filtering away

The loss

 

Sediment

And residue

And memories

 

I’ll flow on

With the wisdom

Of the seasons

 

We have been here

Like the time before that

And that

 

I join and become

One with time

And the water

 

I remember

All that we were

And are

 

Licking the stones

With moss

Preternaturally green

 

The rivulet

Becomes the stream

Becomes the freshet

 

And so we spring

With love

Unforgotten.

©Anthony Weeks 2017