I can never step into the same river twice
or control its flow, stem its meander

make straight its paths. If I let go
who knows where I may end up

I may drown in a torrent, be dashed
to pieces, be carried to a different country.

Rivers are powerful images
crossing them brings endings,

terror of the new. I can’t dismiss
All the rivers of myth,

all the crossings of history and legend,
the baptismal submersions, the watery burials

What would happen if I relaxed, let the current
carry me, and paid attention to the view?

I can never again have this astonishing moment
this combination of bees pandering to yellow flowers

the plaintive invitation of the pigeon
to listen to the soundtrack of this place

to notice the profusion of busyness
matters of life and death going on around me

with no great drama. This moment of being,
and the trillions of cells working within me

offering me this gift, this one-off. And I, a tyrant
want to define and limit, to outlaw uncertainty

to create an impoverished existence of rigid
rhythms and structures. Instead I examine

the different greens of the leaves
no two the same, their delicate

pas de deux with the breeze, and relish
their individuality, their ignorance of my existence.