Ash Waters

he is always

starting again

it seems

losing

what brought him

to the river

where ashes are thrown

to the sound of bells

rising in the morning haze

to the incense

turning in the air

to the voices

on the water

to the quiet

pull

within

a shoreline

at low tide

waits

for a song

in the wind

for birds

to answer

for the mist

to clear

within

the same silence

a slow turning

what color

is this waiting?

wordless

and without shoes

he wades

to where

 edges soften

and

nothing holds