All Her Rivers. | Mark Lawson Bell

All her Rivers,
Rising through cracks,
Defying the pull of the moon,
Silent motive,
Liquid gems clear,
Untainted, bearing no fruit
Except leaves and floating feathers of rook,
These springs, following forebears,
Along timeless routes,
Carved in sand or under shadow of oaks,
Join others, becoming choirs of flow,
Liquid songs now as brooks,
And life now dwells, within her cloaks
Louder now, falling off mountains, ravines and rocks,
Charging, as hungry children fleeting across lawns for lunch,
Hungry mouthfuls and silence as they join siblings,
From hillsides afar, in time with unknown clocks,
Mingling, feeding to one
Now rivers, processions of great bears,
Slow march across lands,
Except occasional sugar rushed surges,
Then, into bowl, they empty to one,
The sea, This one liquid sum,
Now obliging the moon,
To the sound of a slow, silent drum.

All her Rivers, Rising through cracks, Defying the pull of the moon, Silent motive, Liquid gems clear, Untainted, bearing no fruit Except leaves and floating feathers of rook, These springs, following forebears, Along timeless routes, Carved in sand or under shadow of oaks, Join others, becoming choirs of flow, Liquid songs now as brooks, And life now dwells, within her cloaks Louder now, falling off mountains, ravines and rocks, Charging, as hungry children fleeting across lawns for lunch, Hungry mouthfuls and silence as they join siblings, From hillsides afar, in time with unknown clocks, Mingling, feeding to one Now rivers, processions of great bears, Slow march across lands, Except occasional sugar rushed surges, Then, into bowl, they empty to one, The sea, This one liquid sum, Now obliging the moon, To the sound of a slow, silent drum.