Rivers
All rivers will run to the sea,
But those currents won’t bring you back to me.
(I still followed them to the coast,
where my heart filled with wind and waves.)
You could have painted the sky blue,
Instead you sang the rain.
(The flowers were thirsty
and it made my garden bloom.)
You left me with a hole to fill
And in it I planted art.
(But unless the sun comes back,
that seed will never grow.)
The tides will rise and fall again
after none of this remains.