Beneath the milky aufeis

and the weaving glacial fan,

river water runs in a tumbling hum,

unraveling winter with sound.


We stir from our dens,

crossing winter by spring,

braiding valleys with tracks in the sand.

Ursine and inky, we flow past dry duff

to sit, dazzled, 

in the thrum.


As the sun sparks in our coats,

the ice cracks and bobs, 

ringing out iridescent bells.

Melting is 

a building —

every voice matters

in the music of water

and stone.


How long have you sifted, rushing ahead,

chasing the echoes behind you?

Your song is here,

in your immutable

whole —

the infinity in a drop of your



You are the current, 

splendid, sweeping, 

inevitable as a bear

in spring.

We long to hear you, to see you, 

to feel you,

pulled to the confluence

in all things.

Yurt dweller, parent, partner, writer. Knows some things about medicine, life coaching, teaching, and the wilds.

6 Comment on “Confluence

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