Same River Twice

SAME RIVER TWICE

DOWNSTREAM, THE RIVER FLOWS 

BRUSHING PAST BAMBOO GROVES

WHERE FLUTE RISES, A SOFT CRESCENDO SOUND BY THE WIND SERPENT DANCE.

BENEATH THE BODHI TREE, A BUDDHIST SITS STILL AS A STONE, PALMS OPEN LIKE A PETAL, LISTENING TO THE HUSH OF WATER.

KNOWING THERE’S NO NEED TO STEER: THE RIVER MOVIES AS IT MUST CROSS TO THE OTHER SIDE WITHOUT ASKING FOR PERMISSION.

SHE FLOWS IN TUNE WITH SILENT LAWS, WITH THE PULL BY THE WEIGHT OF THE UNSEEN EACH RIPPLE A WHISPERED SYLLABLE SPELLING OUT THE UNSEEN; THOUGH A JAGUAR WATCHES GOLDEN EYES GLIMMERING.

FROM THE RIPARIAN DARK WOODS, WHERE BLACK RAIN WEEPS INTO THE RIVER’S TUNNEL, EACH DROP IS A SLOW DRUMBEAT.

AS THE WATER SOFTENS, SLOWING JUST ENOUGH TO INVITE BARE FEET TO SLIP INTO THE CHILL, A QUITE PROMISE KNOWING EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY.

FOR EVEN WHEN THE SURFACE SEEMS STILL, EVEN WHEN THE RIVER BENDS AND REPEATS, THE SHORES, IT SPEAKS TO ME:

NO RIVER EVER FLOWS THE SAME WAY TWICE.