Hungry
(for Ross on his 54th birthday)
allow the blue-gray substance
of your voiceless visions
to float upward
to the surface of your knowing
passing noiselessly
the river doesn’t stop
and there, over there
the trout surfaces
side slick with rainbow colors
mouth open
rising up
hungry
like you
I’ll meet you in that place
where the rivers converge
by the big rock
on the left bank
hungry, we’ll contemplate the current
by Ruth Asselin Harwood
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