Ocean, of many rivers, O’ how you maintain.
Your surface, when shone upon, peels away.
You say to cloud, borrow and accumulate.
Once a wave, your face now moves and pours out like rain.

 They were soft to the touch – edges pronounced just enough to lightly tickle the prints of his index finger – it felt good. L - i - g - n - u - m - V - i - t - a - … what was it? The last letter disappeared into the wood. It looked like a small capital E but it was hard to make out. The full fall moon cast just enough light through the unsuspecting window – its panes too preoccupied with the crisp autumn air and intermittent gales. “It’s gotta be an e”, the…