A River In Mild Duress

A celestial moon calls me
To an opening.
A cauldron
Of sea-sand and foam.
Another river
Under mild duress, but willing.
From your legs of cypress
A water baby,
Born with kitchen wisdom.

Will the water that
Carried us here
Claim us back again
As fish?
Perhaps.

Relationships ebb and flow.
The tide
Is also a servant to the moon
For want of intimacy
And conversation.