By The River

You had a gramophone
With a handle that you wound.
Do you remember?

On those warm nights
We danced with the music
And the moon and the stars.

Just you and me and a gramophone
Making music by the river.
Do you remember?

Image © 2019 Shona Silverman

Searching For Something

I am high up on a hillside.
My eyes see valleys, forests.
All green, so much green
And I am moving, never still.

The valleys pass, trees slip by.
I could be carried, walking,
Riding on a bicycle perhaps.
It does not feel like that.

Now I am in a forest
Following a man, dark
With a cloak, calf length.
Hooded, from a time gone by.

What is he looking for?
I see his back, hiding.
Perhaps he is hunting,
Searching for something.

He turns to me and sinks below.
I rise, look down upon him.
Under his hood, your eyes green
In another man’s face.

His mouth is open, drinking.
I am swallowed, spreading,
Filling his body and I know
That I am the brook.