Sleeping with the River
Her voice calls me night after night
until finally I go down below her banks
and unroll my bed on the old bridge
that stretches between her shoulders,
to lie quiet and watch the egg-yolk orb
of the moon rise in a cloudless sky.
The jealous wind objects, complaining
through the long light hours, tearing
leaves from the withes of the willow
above my head. Nestled in down,
I am restless, wakened by recurrent
whispers of a lover I will never hold,
the never-ending rush of water over
stone over stone over stone over stone.
--Laurie Wagner Buyer
