A First Poem

A First Poem

It would be so easy
To be lost here
In your arms
In the wind
By the river.

I don’t hear the hawk,
Though you do. 
All I hear is the 
Of leaves overhead.

I’m surrounded,
Protected by you
From the dust,
The sudden rain and – 
Almost –

How simply I could 
Depend on you, 
Lie with you,
Slide right into
This river of love
You offer
And be washed
So easily 


Image: Mouth of Wisconsin River,1885, Henry P. Bosse American, born Germany