red sand

The Stream
(for mark strand)

By: Dale Edmonds

if you stand here,
long enough
stand here
at the edge
where it flows
past you
in a hurriedness
of splash
and roll,
of white foam
over rock,
of wave
after wave,
you begin
to understand
that this
is your life
and there
beneath
the surface
where the sun
glitters with
aquatic stars
are the smiles
you gave;
all going by
in a rush
down there
under the bridge
and around
that last bend
disappearing,
and if you
follow,
you will
disappear
with it
and become
these black
rocks
the water
runs white
over,
like rain
in a graveyard
of wet, polished
stone

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