At the apex

At the apex                                                                                                      
 
At the apex of a bridge – beneath me
the water sweeping ceaselessly away.
 
There’s no abiding river.  You might say
the river does not exist except as a concept.  
 
No intransience there to grasp, though you
are welcome to dip your fingers in its wetness.
 
No abiding self, said the Buddha.
Everything ever flowing.  You might say
 
neither the river nor you and I exist
except as a concept.  Nowhere to hang our hats.
 
No permanence from which
to adopt an immutable view. 
 
O child of God, which part of your being
do you claim as your abiding self?