Saturday, October 31, 2015

The river's flux

The river’s flux                                                                                          

Life starts out perhaps
as a settlement on the rocks

praying to be not uprooted,
tumultuously swept away.

Later it’s more like a drenching
in the river’s flux, attached to our favorite

various buoyant debris
until comes the prompting to hold nothing

but the running current river through our fingers,
letting go all imaginary, stationary refuge, stability,

the vestigial illusions of our sedentariness.
And then lastly letting go the idea entirely

of a river as life upon reaching
the beyond-conception, shoreless sea.

O child of God, your bread has been cast 
with little time left for its returning. 

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