The river's flux

The river’s flux                                                                                          

We build our life as a settlement on the rocks

praying to be not uprooted and swept away.

Later, it’s more like a drenching in the river’s flux,

attached to our various buoyant debris

until comes the prompting to hold onto nothing

but the river running through our fingers,

abandoning the vestigial illusions of our sedentariness.

Ultimately letting go the idea entirely

of river life as we get a whiff    

of the beyond-conception, shoreless sea.

O child of God, your bread has been cast  

with little time left for its returning.