The River Runs - Nov 21 2021

 

The River Runs

Nov 21 2021

I slip seamlessly by

like water around a rock.

A smooth parting upstream,

but perfectly in sync

when I rejoin myself,

barely a ripple

fanning out

across my silky surface

shimmering with sun.

The river runs,

enveloping boulders

immersing small rocks,

hugging each contour

no matter how rough

or unexpected.

The river runs

as we watch,

almost hypnotic in its constancy.

The river runs

inexhaustibly,

from a trickle to a torrent

to its ocean home.

Like energy, which doesn't extinguish

but simply changes form,

water goes

from turbulent to calm

vapour to ice.

While rocks erode

molecule by molecule.

The power of water

the fullness of time.

I hold one in my hand

and feel its heft.

Run my fingers

over its polished surface

and revel in its coolness.

Egg-shaped, and reddish grey

and as old as the earth.

But I am water

and older still,

leaving beautiful rocks

glistening in my wake.

I came across this analogy in my reading – “like water around a rock” – and found it very affecting.

I thought it spoke to perseverance: the formidably slow process of erosion. And integrity: how the water seamlessly finds itself, rejoins. But also the deception of appearances: because while rocks seem permanent and immutable, it's actually water that ultimately persists.

There was also something very aesthetically pleasing about the image: the silky smoothness of moving water; the almost hypnotic constancy of the river's flow.

So the poem is more impressionistic than anything, as opposed to the more linear and narrative pieces I much more commonly write.