Waves of wind.
Thoughts pulled and pressed between
sheets of cool air circle over the river
while slowly rumbling its
volumes of silent vortices
slipping past the sleeping city.
A flat placid surface hides the depths
of its power, the fathoms of tangled trees,
layers of silt and leaves
and voices of lost souls.
The river flows thick to the ocean,
blending in, merging, depositing its wealth
and weight into the great circle of water.
Roger Singer 