Burnt Toast

The waters run with a look of disgrace,
A hundred bison parade the plains in unsettling grace,
the roar of a million swallows ascending the valley below,
A beckoning riot as the swan song reaches high,
Never seen the shadows of a love beneath the land,
A hollow memory of a world lost,
a wanderlust begotten never again.

Where this river flows if the ebb and tide
of a high that only the rooster
crows at morning light –

A light lost upon the souls that have forgotten,
a petal alight upon the brisk waters
of a river lost in the wandering realm.

Within a dozen sparkling rainbows,
set to a tone that only beckons
to those that know -
A hidden knowledge contained in a
million waves upon the surface of the
red rocks uplifted for the sands below.

This here I wander, in love but alone –
nowhere to go, a river dammed
and held – wanting to flow endlessly to thee.