Ripples to the sea
A poem
Down in the Danube, naked I go. Under a field of Slovak stars I fly in the wind of the running river. Wild waters welcome me as a beaver — building a dam-life of sticks and mud, nudging a neverending flow. Climbing, my full moon rises rung by rung to dry in the night light. Watching — my wake wave whisper away.
"Climbing, my full moon rises rung by rung to dry in the night light."
Solid. Love that line—that's kind of how I see it, too, when the moon rises over the water.
Beautiful atmosphere, full moon.