Little stones
smooth and polished, lie
on the bed, staring out of this
clear, cool water. Somewhere, a bird calls out,
piercing the silence like a needle through the ears.

Rustles of dried leaves,
disturbed by the soft breeze through the woods
along the banks, whisper some song – unknown
to me. A fruit drops into the water: plopp,

Pack of trouts swim
in, curious. And afraid. Wide eyed,
and hesitant
they began investigating the flesh
of my legs.

And, quietly, flows the river.

//Date Unknown