The Boat to Bokor
Wide, silent, I rise,
cradling upon my surface the vessel,
that will take you home.
Looming, misty, I stand,
harbouring the wildest lives,
this world can bare.
The boat to Bokor pulls across the glassy surface of twilight.
The boy at the helm searches the darkening river banks for the glowing light of rest.
The mountain watches all.
© All rights reserved ~ Tori Green