.
The river aches in winter
Gravity and, what’s more,
Its very spirit
Pushing against the hard ice.
Like all flesh
It yearns for freedom.
Its white cover a prison
Groaning as it tightens and loosens
In light and in darkness
Like tectonic plates.
It yearns, like us, for that which it does not know
And to be barefoot in spring
And to thunder over boulders
And glide like a magic carpet
Over the miles of clean sand
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