Hands in the River

I can see your hands in the river that flows beneath the floor,
Still and tranquil under the rush of clear and white.

I close my eyes and dance to the memory of our rhythm that pulsed
Not so long ago, in a distance that may as well have been a star.

I lie in bed and I feel your hair flowing all about me;
I let it fall to my face in its beautiful black strands and I sigh.

I can see your hands in the river that flows beneath the anger and the nostalgia;
I can see your eyes so darkly lovely under the constant rush of clear and white.