infiltration

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 –

rough

enough

to sift.

. . . . .

Poet: Susan Powers Bourne

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