what can I tell you
about
swift-moving morning-mineral water
cold and clean
when the world pauses
insects scream
the trees watch
ancient and serene
above a sandy bottle-green
river bed
so pure
dimpled surface like
a music-box cylinder
our arms the combs
in tune
her hair in curls
at her neck
my feet kick
like a child’s
below
in the depths
so clear it looks near
tearing the blue
of our kids’ licked-lenses
off our eyes
so
the ungoggled
colours slant sepia
in a heartbeat
like blood, like 80s photographs
the tint
of old leaves
oh
how can I explain
the magic of that
scene
Photo by Irene Aguilera Blanco on Unsplash