You're what the rivers run to, the wide ocean

You're what the rivers run to, the wide ocean
that knows all time. The softened tufts and plumes
of feathered life, we only know the foam
of her infinity. The water has a new meaning

in the third cycle, she used her breath to clean
the mirror and see her face. The silent dome
of heaven was listening above when she came
finally. The undulations of a warm woman

or the music of grey clouds that continue
to change their shape. The wide ocean has
a way of knowing beyond barrier and virtue,

beyond word and name. The turning oak leaves
prophesy quietly, the expanse of a clear blue
sky resonates with a mysterious sound wave.