a sun mid-day, dawning between
two parted snow clouds.
A gold vein sliding through the landscape
weaving of a fine silk thread in damask curtains
That the river water would heed
my touch to the surface push out
the months are like days
I read Peter Cole, Jerusalem
he walks and I think of travel
seven years on remembering one thing.
Will it be the same freedom
when I visit the same place
a decade later?
The calm water flowing the