Along the Willamette

our minds move so often in circles and sometimes bend in questionable directions . . . we give a flip; I can circle and watch you curve in delight as well . . . possibly, we can wonder where to go and wander in toward another setting sun, not enough for any worried soul . . . sometimes my mind works in overtime, not as well as yours, but I promise I am able to meet you halfway toward a drifting moon or almost rising sun and decipher your smile . . . we can stand and stare and we can hold hands and know that we recognize the sky and the dance of the river . . . we've managed that before and know most of the critical steps . . . I'm mostly slower than you but know to follow if you leap ahead . . .