Under the Dock Leaves

You slide across the branches, 
Your glitter is fertile pollen, 
You're shadows in the shape of leaves. 
A wind that ripples the crest of waves against the current, 
You caress the rivers but you are the springs. 

Your eyes: buds which are moistened by the dew, 
Beyond webs of obscurity. 

The branches swing you 
Then you glide on your transparent wings.