
River flows to the seawith chants on feathered windsthat in repeated rhythms sing of now, or whenāand ifin breathāalmost heldāyou hear the beat of ancient things, the whispered sighs, like fiddle stringsplayed softly in the nightāask, but donāt expect an answerfrom moonās hum or the finned-filled tide, except in dream-song laughter,when silver light meets rosy [ā¦]
Ships of Dreams