We stretch light in our palms, 

holding sunwater to see our faces.

We gather it in golden ropes on the river,

fishing with gleaming nets. 

In the morning, a million diamonds

flash upon the river, like lighthouses

as they turn, telling the lost 

where to find land again. 

For the traveler, home is everywhere 

they wish to be. Sometimes, we are far away

from this world; other times, 

we make poetry like river boulders.