When the wind touches rivers, I lay my body here, in the mud, watching the grace of reeds unfolding. They whisper of mysteries woven into the flow, crossing each branch’s fingertip gliding across.

A cluster of pearls surface, each with a echoing drip, filling the air with ripples, lasting for mere moments, then lost again, swept back out.

Yet every pulse is captured, every breath a push toward light. We are dainty, and each leaf knows how to cradle its story in the bend of the stem thusted up toward the song of stars.

• Muriel Rukeyser