Celestial Creek

A poetic reflection on a little self-exile in the Great Dividing Range.

There is a celestial creek
beside the campground flowing
A wandering white-gold waterway
on the mountain glowing
The camper sits in solitude,
and in solitude is sinking
His gaze is in the water,
a captive barely blinking

An ear can follow a fellow flighty being
A feathered wanderer flitting
From branch to branch emitting
A song reserved for those alone, sitting

A nose can calm its owner by proposing
The arresting aromas of embers enclosing
The mellow manners of receding rain
The essence of woods wracked with receding pain

A finger dipped can often break enchantment
Disrupt the celestial creek, flowing rampant
Push back against the current
Just for space, just for a moment ...

Then to sense the waters re-join their logos
To sense anew the fey rising of the cosmos
That meets at sunrise the descent
Of all things cyclical, so to repent

For a tongue can seldom lose the taste
Of bitter words that break the good uncertain grace
Unless, indeed, its owner treats it fey
And incarcerates its senses with the blood of no decay

Then and only then
When become a camper behind a curtain
Can one renew their senses
Just enough to be uncertain

Uncertain, yes, at least, of the reasons for the worries
That pervade the minds of those
Perpetually surrounded
By powers progressing towards the close

In dank cities with dark demures
With hasty cash and hasty cures
In hardened CBDs with clotted streets
With rotten water and rotten treats

The close comes close indeed
The camper takes another dose maugre greed
Fairies rise and cycles descend
Thus, alone, he may begin to mend