Adrift

The river's drifting slowly, grey and silver

beneath soft bulky clouds laden with shadows,

uprising dreams heaved by a western wind.

A flock of gulls swims with the current,

vacation travellers beckoned by breath

of distant seas, white cotton balls

knowing their home in wides and wilds.

Our roots afloat, enmeshed in driftwood

broken from glowing trees

in sparkling autums

before first snowfall.

The sky breaks not;

only a remote thunder

rumours and dissipates,

leaving the earth

unquenched.