mass of mist graying air

beyond our reach, sunlight

wrestles through the ashen hills

rivulets of rays branching and winding

birds flying through streams

of howling wind

yet there is no lightning

no thunder lies therein

the cold breeze cradles droplets dipping

in the canopy’s embrace, an endless emerald garden given life by branches of trees

in soil embedded

fleeting petal rolling

stumbles across winds watering

roots embellishing crevices

sheltering ants from pouring

water leaves the air for the earth

gracing grass swaying to the sky’s

whispering melody

fleeting petal tiptoeing

each step, a ripple in the river

fingerprints on a mirror

reflecting the welkin’s cloudy gaze

stream gently caressed by rain

fleeting petal deep diving

the rain cupped in its hands

reposed to currents brushing past

anchored pebbles, orbs of moss creeping

along the riverside nestled in

entangled roots

fleeting petal reemerging

gently rowing, canoe in a forest

sea without waves

the sky empty, slender whites give way

to sun rays passing betwixt splayed

leaves bathing in light of day

painting the river, once gray, to azure

fleeting petal fading

mangrove’s end—the start of tides

bridled by the distant moon

the river runs to ocean’s bosom

waters waiting to take flight again

teased by sunlight shimmering

in deep dark blue