Taken by Steven Mackay
Where waters end, I do not know
only at this rupture, where streams shed their
dark overcoats, and fly
pure
like down from geese
untouched by mankind’s grime
liberated
patterns of shifting, sliding glass
each drop flies, free
yet fated
ever forward
soon, the wonder
childlike
regains a somber character;
the journey is not yet done.
Unspoken Politics 