downstream from here
there is a tale of sparrows fallen,
opened as dream-scape wanderers
on a weekend beyond the edge,
full of thrills not for grasping,
yet each intake of feathered breath make possible,
into the night,
into the spark and flicker and eye shine,
one awakens the promise, another calls its fulfilment,
still another digs the well
no rusty pail here, but bared toes on crystal sands,
sunk deep, with roots that outlast the tides
when all is said and undone at the estuary,
time will be out of us, and we’ll count
in degrees of delight