Silver light dancing over the fog
like the beautiful elves
who purse their lips
to kiss the gossamer surface

the tiny footprints in the mud
of mister mole and the old toad
as they go about their evening business
the damp air heavy like a drug

intoxicated now, they float downstream
it is not dying, it is not dying
to there Nirvana, there Valhalla
across the Styx
to the other shore

the slime twisted trees drip
their leaves thru the light
and the pool is warm
like fresh honey
soaking them

to be here is so still
sound is happening elsewhere
the pulse is slow
running at stream speed
the liquid it pumps-
blue in the darkness