Stolen River

The page aches with loneliness,
With a lust for words, with the shiver
And sliver of silver and river
That sink away from each other,
Mirroring the wind in
The morning midnight's
Mist of broken
Rhyme and the long
Songs of light's inertia. The tears
Of the Earth are unwinding, serpentine
As ink, the hopeless flow
Of the Ganges, writing
Itself into its own sand,
The children playing in the burning
Snow, making angels,
Ashes - all these will
Melt by tomorrow. Another page will turn.