The River

Winter offers us a blank bouquet
as the sun perches on a bright blue crown,
followed by the sudden haste —
we join the marching of days:
eat up your breakfast, don’t forget
the keys, put on your hat and gloves.

Our early breath torn between
our human warmth and where.
Yes, little one, stars are blinking
beyond the morning light.
Last night the fallen leaves
were free to roam

across an empty street,
under the watchful eye of a lamppost,
along with the soft steps
of a wandering cat
not yet ready to return
to the warmth of a home

where humans slept,
where in a dream there was a horse
wild in its youth and yonder
and not at all daunted by its thirst
for it knows of the river,
and that it runs.