covered with moss, the flat-topped rock is
cool, spongy, damp
as a well-wrung dishcloth around it, crystal
clear and speaking in tongues, snow-melt urges
a stream upward, lifting grasses along the bank until
the strands ripple like silk there, in the deep
emerald shade, the siren silence fills your ears,
lures thoughts and cares into another, glacial
world, where they remain indefinitely
suspended devoid of words, fingers feel, eyes
see a leaf with deckled golden edges
floats on the current
let it go, let it go
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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