by the water’s edge,
i paused,
where the river gurgles,
splashes, and rustles its cause.
an empty bottle, smooth and clear,
a glassy vessel,
waiting here.

i scratch my words in hurried ink,
and in pace.
a fleeting thought, a wish,
i prefer a blink.
a sketch,
a star, a leaf, a face,
to float away in
time and space.

the cork is pressed,
the seal is tight,
the current takes it out of sight.
between the note and bottle’s glow,
which would you be?
i’d like to know.

would you be
the words inside,
a secret heart the stream must hide?
or the glass that braves the tide,
holding hope
but
hollow-eyed?

tell me,
if the choice were true,
would you be the message…
or the vessel passing through?

as to me,
i prefer to be
the river,
reading private
messages for free,
with a bonus of
having a rotting bottle of wine.
is not that bad for a river like me?