I sit at the creek,

its surface holding the sky’s forgetting

time drifts

like a leaf

before me,

edges curling, soft with surrender.

a sadness floats beneath my ribs,

not a wound, but a slow ripple, folding

into the quiet, until even my stillness fades.

morning leans into me

her light prickling my face.

the brightness swallows, wraps,

fills my shut eyelids

the sad sinks gently down

becoming part of the glittering depth

as tomorrow

begins.