we roll along ragged riverbeds –
follow currents, flow with mud,
tumble into rocks, stones.
all we lose are keen, hard edges,
those most-often-used, like us.
no petroglyphic stubs suffice.
worn-out, drowned by words –
however once well-defined,
articulated or drawn –
we still meander — mud-river-slow
leave stark-silt traces,
rhyme-dark trails –
. . . . .
Poet: Susan Powers Bourne