Of Moths And Guitars
River, what do you symbolize- it isn’t
Love that flows through you
Coming down the mountain, leaping
And showing yourself over
The stone, the little things entering you,
Like wedding rings,
Becoming lost into you as you travel
Down and join your other sisters who
Carrying your name in their throats-
River, river coming down the mountain-
The sky reflecting the memory of your
Greenness- Was it the trees who
Cried you, or the very pinnacle of
Stone reaching up to the fanfares who
Coalesced and made you run- soon you
Will be reaching the sleeping village,
And then hurrying further to the sound
Of moths and guitars.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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