Drift.

Impossibly as the world settles, a shadow finds us.
Light with its long thought coaxes air asleep,

and certainty is the silence upon a river--
allowing breath to matter. We are waders

in this summer heat, turned by sounds
disturbed within an old longing, urged

into our ears to whisper Imagine birds,
lulled by the flowing of sun along lawns.

Wandering, the mind gathers what it needs--
oceans and seabirds, cliff face, a few white stones.