Twigs trail their fingers
through the trickling wet
much as a child might
on a hot and hazy
summer day.
A bird lights
on the branch
like a light
on a branch,
picks a seed
from the peeling bark
and flies away again.
The dry branch
drinks deeply
from the cool
clear flow
while remaining anchored
fast to shore.
Moonlight falls
on its resting body
and a new cycle
begins.
~Flame RavenHawk