The River

Sounds.
And murmers. Rain tapping impatient fingers
on the car and ground.
Ice drops on cheeks. The kiss. Touches
of tongue to rain-glazed skin.
Tastes of freedom.
And crisp drops falling, waking unknown souls.
Shiver. And damp
with the atmosphere.
Ghost moon behind crying clouds.
And crackled electricity lighting
misty pupils.
Crash of response.
Elements colliding in perfection.
Breaths mingle in the storm.
Moaning thunder in ears.
Surrounding limbs and trees; shaking.
Filling minds with the natural musics.
Slight gust and fast-falling rain to water.
Tangled hair soaked.
Storm clouds silence and drift.
Asleep.
The river. Soundless serenity.

-Rachel Johnson, April 8,1993

The Contortionist is a private literary publication by Fish Hook Press.
© Rachel Green, 2001