The river sings through rock and time as we sit at its bank.
Our truest wishes rise from underground tributaries composed
of old ocean, lost beloveds, bravest bones, clearest seeing.
What we know winters over into porous ground.
What we don’t know lands on high branches only the deer see.
We turn our faces faithfully toward moonlight and motion,
waiting for what comes next. A bluebird returns to the harmonics
of cedar and big bluestem. The night and temperature fall.
We remember that this world holds and holds us together
in the widening river of stars, above as below. No other way.
~ Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg