Wren River falls.
Delving, crashing,
eating away.
While the canyon sits empty,
rushing, whirling
echoes in the deep,
building to roar
against the milk white walls.
Then, a slow rise;
Ting ting ting
Boom boom boom.
On rock,
scoured
of all but barest frothy moss,
candlelight shines.
Or sometimes magelight,
dimmed down.
Hammer blows, low rhythms, laughter.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Oros people sing,
carving, chipping,
bite by bite.
Green flecked stone
born away by the barrow.
Water, glowing in the moon.
Wren River,
Oros people,
eating away.
The stone cliffs smile,
light glinting from sharp teeth,
as Oros makes their homes.
4/4/2018
