morning poem, July 2, 2015

 

Following The River

 

With time on my hands

I have at last done it

Gone all the way up the little river

Past every creek and rill that joins

And farther on

To where the river itself is only

A narrow and shallow flow.

 

I keep following

Over fences now

And through laurel thickets

I must wade the center of the stream to pass

Into a ravine, where the water flows over and around worn stones

Finally, I go under the canopy of the forest

And up the mountainside.

 

At the end of it all, just below the mountain ridge

Clear water gushes from the mud

This is birth.

At the end of it all

Is not revelation, but mystery.

 

Copyright 2015

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