the st. lawrence rushes onwards
throwing pebbles like words
let fall from our tired lips,
clumsy when we should be careful.

throwing pebbles like words,
reaching our hands out too far
clumsy when we should be careful,
we waver beside the current.

reaching our hands out too far
toward a perfect stranger.
we waver beside the current,
unsure whether to trust.

toward a perfect stranger
we make breakable promises,
unsure whether to trust
in a delicate future.

we make breakable promises,
let fall from our tired lips.
in a delicate future,
the st. lawrence rushes onwards.