Lotic

This entry is part 68 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

A winter wren darts low
over the rushing stream
and unwinds its hurdy-gurdy song.

Not all water-lovers
are bouyant in the same way.
The waterthrush walks

on the bottom, tail bobbing
as if spring-loaded. We stand
dripping in the rain.

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