a journal of fantastical poetry
Riddle by the Riverbank
I am unfurling from the loam, green teeth and dew. I echo from a clutch of bones, tangled by root. I am standing in the river, willow-tree still. I drip while the wind considers each glassy rill. My first lover is the flood-watch, the swift water. My fingers have brought sabotage, unlatched laughter. My voice is a dapple of light where rivers flow. My lover can be gift or blight, wheat ripens gold. I am a sad tale and warning, green teeth and dew. I am bones the birch hoards, tangled by root. Who am I?
June 21st, 2019