A craftwork of metal and wire arisen out of a mist.
Something fashioned by a fantasist
appealing to our journey, future-made
above the clouds with hope arrayed.
A box across the creek bed, made of wood.
The romantic moonlight lit and understood
its dirt road point of interception.
It hosts a memory of affection.
The stone one with its aqueduct eyes,
peering just above the waterline.
A docile stream that’s hardly flowing,
yet moves a slight, its life sea-going.
The poet’s words are diffident,
but stand in verse, the infinite
transitions to a place of rest
spanning over rocks and clefts.
Horizons stand, all that remains
beyond the beckoning segue plains.