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Being one with the flow takes constant thought and effort
A river is hard to read.
Just when you think you are floating effortlessly along it
takes a turn,
Mid-stream moments ago is now marooned in a dank pool
Amid the polystyrene and the plastic bottles.
A river is so much more than water.
Dedication to traditional technique is a trap
“Stay with the fast water.
“Anticipate, left, left, one right, left, left, left, now
two”
Devotion to rosary rhythm leads you blind
Past the wrens and willy wagtails under the willows.
A river is so much more than water.
Routine can run into rapids round any corner
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Daddy look at me.”
“I’ve found someone else.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.”
“You’d better be sitting down for this.”
Ronald Dworkin
died as the meteor exploded over Siberia,
The brunette
dressed as a man stole ten minutes
For coco and a
cupcake,
Bloody Sunday widows
won fifty grand for their dead,
And the summer breeze lifted a skirt in Acland Street.
It’s the flow,
That mystical moment when moving becomes dancing,
The rocks part as you sail through with the white water.
A river is so much more than water.
Suddenly stillness.
The banks retreat towards the horizon,
The water vanishes into tranquil reflections.
Sky, stars, moments, those words, that day.
Moving like the Hajj, we all drift past the shore into the
vast blue.
A river is so much more than water.
