Stepping in a River

The few fish left dream
that they are born again.
As silver haired stars
with sparkling teeth.
Waiting patiently,
for the voice of the voyager
to tell them again –
you don’t look your age.
And when it starts to rain,
as it always does – the river
and I contemplate life –
unfavorable and long.
Endless gestures,
but infectious as hell.

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