[Cally Conan-Davies]

Am I allowed to post this? Take it down, if not - I'm ignorant of such things. But ohh ...

The River in Spate

sweeps us both down its cold grey current.
Grey now as your father was when I met you,
I wake even now on that shore where once,
sweat slick and still, we breathed together--
in--soft rain gentling the level of the lake,
out--bright mist rising from the lake at dawn.
How long before we gave each other to sleep,
to air--drawing the mist up, exhaling the rain?
Though we fight now for breath and weaken
in the torrent's surge to the dark of its mouth,
you are still asleep in my arms by its source,
small waves lapping the gravel shore,
and I am still awake and watching you,
in wonder, without sadness, like a child.