brooky pulls

     wake at the first butt crack of dimple dawn chills

     to search for the breakfast within simple rivers

     churning and filled with colors green and blue

     the river rolls through my feet into my own golden stream

     where my joy connects to the rich earth raining scenes

     flys or odd abstract lures conjure the collective sirene

     brooky pulls bending cutthroat spotted reflections

     almost a shame to disturb them of their lives

     or even tragic that I will eat them

     but somehow I feel they remind me

     of our own eventual destruction

    also of the color turning within me

    the gift of our mortal life we see

    to be able to enjoy the waterfalling fountains

    blessed to live near these sacred mountains