A water
course over stone and
silted bank,

spills like a
glass overturned from
mountain peak.

Through golden
grasses, it stretches
elbows for

trout to find
a home in christened
robes that once

came down from
truffle clouds. Trumpet
thunder from

shrouded skies,
the water now has
turned to wine.

Soft does the
sun drink his daily
fill and say

a psalm in
shaded silhouettes.
Though ripples

do crown his
sparkling face, he still
prays for a

veil of rain.