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