The scent of river and green
fills the space in my mind
where once you were only
a memory of a dream.
Years and myths
of what we were
and will become
are written in the runes left
by crow and sycamore.
My heart wends its way
to the gulf between us.
The marsh and saw grass,
sweet in its dance with the wind,
chiming bells of lilies cascade
across the river bed
of green moss and milk weed,
tumbling together
in the singing water.
Gulls wheel overhead
calling your name
again and again and again.
(revised)
thecourseofourseasons 