Conundrum

Faith brings to me
water beating on leaves
beside beautiful trees
that poignantly speak
in brilliant green
vulnerability.

Palms to the sky, why?
Eyes closed, to rely,
on only God to get by.

Who washes the river
when love and silver
crash and splinter?

Surface hope's throw
confusingly slow,
aching, wading shallow,
sorry casual approach
and it remains to be so
a conundrum composed.

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