We beached our beautiful canoe
on a sandy shore beside the river
just past a fine rapid run
and made a good camp
at the edge of the flood plain forest
with a proud fire we made from friction
and dry things
We ate well and drank cleanly
as dusk fell-in
and all around was good quiet and blue light
and our voices never rose above a whisper.
Never had to…so quiet.
Sleep came right there
beside the proud fire
and in the morning, the light was golden amber
and the mist was rising thick from the river
and he was missing.
I made my way to the river’s edge
to where the beautiful canoe had been.
And looking down river I saw him fading
into the mist
rounding a forever bend.
I called but no sound came.
No sound could.
All in a dream.