I'm back.
But the stream already knew that.
My eyes feast on the clear sunlit bronze stream.
The bottom scattered with pebbles
possessing deep desires and last hope dreams.
Glossed white rushing rapids
are sliced in two by protruding stone.
Sometimes the meaning is
simply no meaning flowing over the stream's bones.
Free from the prison of my mind,
I meander barefoot
in the bubbling, sparkling water divine.
This hidden remarkable, the secret stream,
turns tranquil peace into creative steam.