Your eyes remind me of my river in the late afternoon,
Sun-golden and warm.
I once said so and you smiled.
I am alone now.
When the light of the setting sun hits his currents,
The river-god speaks to me, his child, voice low.
I bend forward, close over him,
My hands on his surface, feeling him move beneath me.
Forever I carry his sighs.
The visits back to New Orleans have been wonderful. This is for my Mississippi — amazing river that you are, Ann.
A trio of posts inspired by my recent visits begin here with To Miss New Orleans, about an old journalist who inspired my great love of the city.
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Copyright 1991 and 2016, Ann Fisher. All rights reserved.