Sawyer

Just listen to the sound of the river.
Can you see the two faces of winter?
Feel the rush of cold from the spring?
Smell the fallen leaves on the breeze?

Just keep the letters flowing.
Can you stay still enough to be carried?
Feel the words tangle expertly on a tree?
Smell the salt of the sea on the blowing wind?

Let the bend of every river shape the ground?
We are not the banks.
We are the tadpoles in the shallows.
The crayfish in the mess of roots.

Above the surface, the sun shines you away.
Beneath, the sounds come closer.
Silt is easier to see through than sun,
But every movement must be sure.