Slate gray river,
I saw you shining last night.

Don’t know if it was comet or satellite,
but something hovered above you,

beaming bright. Your ripples were alive
with conversation.

What is it you and the stars discussed
while I lurked at our windows, 

binoculars in hand, trying to read the mystery
as sleep evaded me in those hours when all is quiet, 

when most are asleep, dreaming.
Seeking ease of mind, I take to peeping—

the night sky so full of wonder—permitting escape, 
expansion, release from narrow parameters. 

The riparian zone is far reaching, 
as is the celestial one. There are really no borders

where we try to place them, wanting 
to impose order that suits our desire for conquest.

My zone extends beyond the container of skin
and bones I call Body. If I liquify into ripples 

like a river, I can flow, I can fly.
Last night I traveled to the stars, searching for peace.

Treading water in the glittering swells let me let go enough
to float into dawn.