With an unknown name?
Seeking forests as its source,
Timely interactions with the land.
Silently bubbling over rocks
And shallow pebbled beds;
With no sense of human time –
Having found its own propulsion,
With the rain.
It laughs, as it passes under bridges,
But only in a gargled way –
And loud enough for those with time
As it slides into the forest,
Ambling past deserted châteaus,
And cider apple farms.
Once again finding secret places,
Where it can disappear.
Fingleton (Löst Viking)