There is more…

The miracle of the brook right next to me.
The shadows of branches on this page speaks.
The abundance of water travels
over and around any rock or impedance
under trees and shrubs,
glinting in the sun it cannot stop.

It carries the words
of a thousand years
and moments that mattered like mine.
Shall I sing to the brook while I wade in the water
until all is the chorus of time?

It is a clean brook.
It will find the ocean,
once more become the rain
that falls in the canyon
fills up the flowers
and sings for another again.

I used to pick up
heart-shaped rocks on my path.
I leave them be
for someone else to find and take home