Take ecto-mist off the phone lines,
suspended longing in the wait.
He’s going to be the one to take
the first dive, always is… Wet,
we only see the kaleidoscoping
waves by the reflections on water,
can’t grasp or find on the surface.
Blue exchanges beyond vision,
wonder what memories hide
in the cedar, or the river rock
smoothed by years of white water—
tough paths. I’ll keep watching
for high tide, prepare my breath
to bring the tale of caution,
but I can’t promise to save his
story or his twine connecting mine…