Rites of Passage
by Christine Adams Beckett
For Lizzie
Snow fell in gentle waves
caressing the banks of a river,
singing a lullaby in steady whispers
over a harnessing, ancient dam.
Inclement warmth and winter rains
melt the icy duvet that draped the native
mountain laurel surrounding a lake
that knows only one outlet –
This channel that ushers its bursting waters
to an entirely new place
where there is room to spread
their anxious liquid wings:
An ocean, limitless, starting at its delta,
its alpha, autonomy, possibility, under
the warmth of the sun that raises weightless clouds
and will guide our waters home, again.
I’m so glad to read this, Chris. I love to read your poetry.
Sent from my >~~)-)-)- ( • >
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