Down by the River

Beyond the trees searching, as the universe dwells within her;        
blind as the breeze that trembles the leaves        
that breaks the wave of a magpie rattling        
over some old boy that was born with a grey beard        
and told of a rose that withered.  "yak yak yak."          
       
She tastes the air; “who’s that?”  She shivers;        
there was no wild larkspur to repel the ghosts        
that shared the woods by the river – it was too early in the season        
beyond the boughs and quivers.  She comes to a clearing;        
cloudless forms seer her eyes, just as Crazy Horse said. There was the blindness of heaven.