Friday, April 12, 2013


The river swirls with shadows
On this bright day in spring,
Shadows twisted out of shape
By currents or fish
Or even the ducks
That swim to shore to feed
Or even when the wind blows
And leaves float down
Or the branches
The branches mirror stir,
Shadows aching to be trees
To grow high and strong
To sink down deep roots
Shadows mocked by movement
Never more than shallow
Imitations of those they ache to be,
Rising and falling
With tides they cannot control,
Battered by cloud bursts
Struggling not to fade
There but not there
Real and yet unreal
Strong yet not strong enough,
Aching for the day
When they can be real
Trees and not fade away

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