A river that no longer remembers our steps (Marcella Boccia)
The river once kissed our feet with whispers,
a quiet song beneath the moon,
its current, tender with secrets,
carried us where time dissolved. We were the dream of its waters,
our laughter like ripples in its embrace,
but now, it flows—silent, untold,
forgetting the dance of our shadows.
Do you remember how the night would fold
its wings around us, soft as velvet,
and the stars, distant and eager,
watched us as if we were the world?
Now, the river is a stranger,
its surface cold, unyielding,
and I, the traveler of memories,
stand at its edge, seeking what has fled.
It no longer remembers our steps,
our hearts that beat in time with its flow,
only the quiet rush of its waters
as they slip away, like dreams at dawn.
Yet in the silence of its currents,
I still hear the echo of your name,
a distant call, a fading prayer,
lost forever to the river's soul.
