The wind’s shadow

Pushes dust up the river bank

Throws back willow boughs

Breaking the white noise, somehow

More like silence,

Of the night crickets humming

Rocks with lichen eyebrows

Soak up the sun and crest the ripples

Breeze ripping like wet cloth through the water

The clouds, filled with a gray premonition, and

Hiding behind hundred year trees,

Bend and drop their pine seeds