Salzach Poem by Leslie Philibert
Salzach
A working river;
no madrigal
no moodwater
no moondive.
A vicious cut through stone
past deer and belief
curves and pebbles
rope and sand.
An audience of trees
watch hands and salt form
bends of hard grass
and wild mint.
When I am considered lost
you pull at my sleeve,
slow with dark water,
alone and old, but safe.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
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4/26/2024 9:17:29 PM # 1.0.0.1119
