Moving Water, Waits Too Long..(1 Poem by James McLain

Beside me is still some water; and besides some one I lay,
it's running off each stone, each trickle how it always flows.
Funny how time lets dreams float often up away, down a
little stream, the forest moves each tree, in a little closer.
Soft splashes cover water those white cups of serendipity,
and it defines each our wanting, something more exciting.
And resting inside each hollow shaped yours too wish I am,
and still too heavy large, I hold my breath, while you walk by.
You stop, and bending down and hold out all imagination
and wanting it so fresh, you shape half a moon around it.