River

The river you spoke of

it appeared in my dreams,

Shining, shimmering, sprinkled

with golden hues and rays of blue.

My unconscious sacred. My eyes did

not believe the sight they saw within

my dream, they craved to see.

The river you spoke of spoke to me.

The river spoke of feelings, of peace

and longing. It whispered to me

to dip my fingers in, to taste a

glimpse of its sweet honesty. It

knew I was hesitant, untrusting.

It knew I had faced hundreds of

lies before, both reality and not.

When I woke up, my hands were

dry. Crisping and cutting at edges,

my fingers begged for moisture to

bless their heads. I obeyed, exiting

the house I trust all to obey the words

of the fingers who wished to thrust

into the waters of a river, the river you

spoke of, told me to visit, told me to join.

Hours I felt like I was walking.

Hours I felt like I was wandering.

The night's mist and the star's songs

were my only company as I traveled

along, alone. Then I heard the whispers

of the river, the river you spoke of,

the river of my dreams. It told me to trust,

and I believed it would reappear.

Those golden hues and silver threads

lashed against the earth, yelling at me

to join. My hands craved the waters,

my feet wandered closer. I obeyed.

I went to the water.

I dipped my hands in.

My feet joined next.

I felt your arms around me.

The silver threads, your smile.

The golden hues, your eyes.

The lapping water, your arms.