Her River Of Stones

This river, runs sweet, clear, cool and narrow. It is her banded waist she wears so like her hair. They flow down from the mountains chapel diffed as the tears that wash her face in heat, i must drink from. The stones swell, in eddies swirled, in graced full circles. Moving as in silky touch from one hand hidden from two with in the other. The sun, her shinny as does the shadowed moving stones. Silvered to the hollow cup she has destined to catch them so. She gathers them as in love, and carries them as his heart, beats to spreads them the loam her hands rich garden seeds now sown.