there’s a sun tangled mid-
winter in the confines
of your eyes, spilling out
over the rocks like sick
solace or liquid
lust & trestled between
either shallow
bank as if it alone
owned the hour-
glass dripping
sand into our shoes
& under our
pretenses but
i’m in love
with silhouettes,
you get lost in
the separation cry of
down-stream currents
and there are still
shadows in this un-
plumbed ever.
the tenth muse 
in this unplumbed ever is an awesome line…the sun tangled mid winter in the eyes is a great visual as well…nice joanna
thanks, brian. *smiles*
love the texture of this..and same line as bri with the un-
plumbed ever….i like
i guess there’s a consensus, then. 🙂 thanks, claudia
A powerful write. Very nice.
I love it!!!!!!!!!!!
thanks, girl! 🙂
This photo is awesome, and your words it’s shadow…. You are very creative…. Thank you for sharing this and your other poetry. I read several of your poems tagged under the moniker “Richmond.” I’m assuming that is Virginia as there are mentions of things and feelings that existed only during the breadth of the American Civil War. I agree that you are indeed a Romantic Sir, as there is perhaps no greater era of unwavering romance, dignified aplomb, no greater poise that has ever been except that within the hearts and minds of those men and women who lived in 1860’s south. It was a time when self became selflessness, and the grief, the loss of a loved brother, son, or husband, became the greatest badge of honor. I enjoy your work very much…….
john. Virginia indeed. there is definitely still that sense of history and honor here, if one knows where to look. thank you kindly for stopping by.
great title, terrific write
So beautiful! I look forward to buying your book of river poems.
😉 Thanks, Ray.
That first verse is outstanding. Such a way with words. The picture is so mysterious – excellent