Moving

The river is moving,
ending in a return
to itself–
a shoreline shaped by the moon
worshipping the sky,
bowing to the land that holds its bones.
It sings like the stars–
the river is moving,
connected by stories,
signals strewn on the wind–
imprints
ending in a return
of unrevealing.
The metaphor empties–
becomes something else
to itself,
a path that follows
unseen,
released into the evermore–
a shoreline shaped by the moon.