an easter drive

a winter stream satisfied with itself,
for widening under a coy causeway.
she is heavy and gray, without want.
she loves me pure in her pregnant eyes.
she flows to my foolishness, as i pass,
where fireflies float in slow motion,
a silent waltz in spring.
sing to me sweet stream,
love me with all your soul.
my heart laves your mercies;
some yellow summer dress
dries in the branches by your shore.