Running with them
For a time I once divided
Into weeks
Is like a river that never dries
But goes and goes, coasting
Over shells and sand beds,
The souls of mountains
Breaking up, migrating.
Being among them
Nights in frostbound fields
Beneath a ghost moon haze,
I need to believe
They too are counting stars
And all the time between them.
Christopher Woods, Texas, USA
Beautiful poem, it has a lovely weight to it...
ReplyDelete"...I need to believe
ReplyDeleteThey too are counting stars
And all the time between them." Simply beautiful.