RENDEZVOUS
Late summer, the creek draws back
into familiar sand, special cobbles
worn smooth and caged in a tangle
of sycamore roots, half-exposed
where water pools. Sometimes
these are few and far between.
Here we are vulnerable, approach
sweet sustenance with caution,
yet learn to relax within old skins
and grin at our survival. Some days,
we own the waterhole, make music
until the stars fade into dawn light.
Quite sure this one’s triggered by an email from an old friend. Right at an inch in the gauge.