Credo
       

I believe in fate of the shoreline—
cattails shattering into seed,
turtles tucked into burrows,
their three-chambered heart.

Let the loons lift. Let the past recede
which owes nothing to memory.

Nostalgia is a ghost lounging around—
mucking things up.

I believe ephemerals:
a love story,
a knave of feathers,
a choir of reeds.

I believe in the lake, rolling us back
into the drift toward an island
we knew ourselves bound for.

Let pines stripped of bark fade to grey.
Let leaves rattle dry like fractals in the chill.

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Copyright © 2017 Crystal Spring Gibbins All rights reserved
from Now/Here
Holy Cow! Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission