The Lost River

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The Lost River

Drip drop druid forest,

Thick white batons lay on the floor,

Knick knock in the rock,

Let’s find a face.

.

We crawled on our bellies,

Knelt before the sea alter,

Shimmied along rock crags,

–Muddy and melting between the glacier ice

That carved smooth pot-holes.

.

Lemon squeezing grandpas,

The echos filled with children’s laughter,

Climbs against boulders at your back,

Angled ladders,

.

Small streams and colorful rocks crossed our pathway.

Around beaver brook’s base,

The water’s girth, a loud noise,

An incredible orchestra,

An entire journey upward,

Rock, jaded, studded waterfall,

A mountain high of meandering,

On a large rock face, over which trees had grown

Their roots had branched

And patrons had worn

Places for us to step and fall.

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