the water poet

the water poet sits
his words are -
eternally old, and
tenderly young
together;
unfolding truths pouring
from a heart caught
unaware - and shed
upon the textured page
drifting in whitest swan feathers.

the water poet dreams
in amethyst,
of intuitions dropping
as reflections upon
the silver lake,
of faces
turning in,
toward a muse.

the water poet smiles,
surrenders to the wind
and light -
freeing,
his barest word -

the essence of this moment.

which is his life.