Her River Of Stones Poem by James McLain

This river, runs sweet,
clear, cool and narrow.
It is her banded waist she
wears so like her hair.
They flow down from the
mountains chapel diffed
as the tears that wash her
face in heat, i must drink from.
The stones swell, in eddies
swirled, in graced full circles.
Moving as in silky touch from
one hand hidden from two with
in the other.
The sun, her shinny as does the
shadowed moving stones.
Silvered to the hollow cup she
has destined to catch them so.
She gathers them as in love, and
carries them as his heart, beats to
spreads them the loam her hands
rich garden seeds now sown.