Serene

Winds whisper endearing half-truths, hinting
Knowing that the falls approach will not help

Avoid them, although it might enable
You to miss the beauty of the river

Before. You lean back in tranquility.
Downstream from now does not exist. Upstream

Has no place in this glossy reflection
Of infinitely branching thoughts afloat

In constant, wavering hail and farewell,
The echoes that are simultaneous,

Cumulative, the images never
Quite clear, but clearly gathering number.

Why not appreciate the gliding force
Of the song both seduction and warning?

Here is the river, en plein air, scattered
With leaves, you among them. There is nothing.