Thursday, October 11, 2007

A River Runs Through It

I could be the rocks,
glowing red in the morning light,
so shiny,
so still;
resisting the water's pull,
time's patient erosion.

I could be the water,
so blue,
so clear,
relentless, like sand,
like sands through the hour glass
rush to completion.

Somewhere a salmon
is swimming upstream
battered and buffeted,
driven by destiny.

But I, like the cedar flakes,
could cling to the sidelines
content to watch and slowly decay.

And you:
who are you?
Where are you in this photograph?
Are you the sun?
Or the wind?
Or the sky?
Are you stillness or movement,
Atom, or molecule?
Under a rock,
or up on the bridge,
driving to work with no thought of the river,
no thought of the salmon,
no thought of her children
bubbling by.

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