Tributaries Poem by John Weber

It flows around
without much sound
to fill us whole
in rich glory,
our soft story:
I shall extol.

We split apart
right at the start,
I ignore why.
My trap gets set
when I forget
your glowing eye.

Lilting words danced
when we both chanced
to allow hopes
within our plot
tied in a knot
perched on tipped slopes.

Distant goodbyes
always disguise
the tears and fears
that must arise
at love’s demise
woe reappears.