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Autumn Leaves
volume 6 number 7
Autumn Leaves volume 6 number 7 |
Rhythm across silt and loam, in rain
that washes soil
downward; I hear
the whispers of a river, the craving for a chance.
A child grows in the swell of my waist,
lives at the turn
of a path. I hope
for ten little fingers, but the womb is dry.
Still I
see the Cahaba River
where the lily bloom is rare,
clusters of open pods
already budded for spring.
Silent only in the distance, I wait for a
crest,
traces of genesis within purling water.
