On a Sunday by the water
Only the crickets make sound
And only the dragonflies know I’m here.
I go through my phone
And I realize there’s no one there
But I have my books
And I have my rock
By the old rotten tree
And I have a thousand songs
Memorized in my head,
Now, if only I spoke dragonfly.
This river is like
A woman. She holds my heart
in her throbbing hand.
My bare feet slip on the creekbed.
The water is the perfect temperature
And I’d jump right in
If it weren’t for the books and beer in my backpack.
My feet search cautiously for that foothold
Trying not to slice them right open.
This river’s bed is cruel to lovers too timid,
But she is sweet to my broken modern heart
Which is slowly immersed in her peaceful flow
Washing away all the trivial worries in my life
And I know now
Why God set aside a day of rest
And I thank him for this loyal friend
This wondrous river.