Truth Drifts Quietly

A girl sits

at the river’s edge,

sunset unraveling

into gold and ash.

The water does not hide

what it reflects—

sky, branch,

her quiet face.

She does not arrange herself

for the current,

does not ask

to be understood.

The river moves—

clear, then clouded—

carrying silt

that settles

where it can.

Across the bank,

a tree leans,

then falls—

no witness,

no echo held.

Still, the earth receives it.

The girl watches

without naming beauty,

without guarding it.

What is simple

passes through her

like light through water—

seen,

misread,

gone.

And yet—

she remains

as she is,

uncovered as the sky at dusk,

while truth drifts quietly,

finding its way

into whatever will let it in.