It sits quietly beside the river,
where cattails lean into silence,
and the heron, slow with thought,
lifts its shadow into the sky.
I try to hoist it again—
a knapsack heavy with gold.
It slips through my fingers lightly,
a silk thread unwinding in air—
or finds me, walking in pines,
the scent of sap pulling me,
deeper into the still-green shade,
where the earth hums softly.
I keep looking but never grasp it—
until the wind touches my face,
until a sparrow lands on my hand,
and I remember everything is enough.