Young River

Young river!
—blind water slipping
unhurried, voicing
ancient curled tongues
to smoothed stone
of adoring rain clouds,
snow melt that shone
white waiting out months
in tangled hills, damp
as the clefts of your body,
and swollen pools
that burst, flowed
though the forest
from trickle to
stream to creek
carrying memories
of roots passed over,
confluences met, rocks
polished in the delta
where white water settles
deep down, in meditation
on servitude
and bliss,
thrumming with small fish
like each hand I glide
through your hair, feather
across your back, plunge
down your thigh—
I love you.