Waters stall on a warm winters night.
The craft I pull takes on its stillness.
Breathing in old circumstance.
My Desire reflects clearer than I saw before.
On a rock face far, his hand reaches out to me.
My palms penetrate the glassy surface and fold into his.
Dare I hope?
In but a moment the river starts again,
and we must release.
Buds imprint the skin.
Copyright © Cindy Leng