beyond my road
i can hear
the stream
in ice
water licks
the shadow of
its still self
and moves on
upon its eddies
i lay a leaf
greyed
and dried
not to be restored by this phantom touch of dew
i dream it
a paper
filled with words
you will never know
not for the lack of soul within the words
no, not that
it is discretion that moves me so
to wash
to clean away
to be all that i am
less
the words
you mused.