poem

 River Split

It’s best to think of this

As the river that splits.

What was one, is now two 

Keep it a secret

No one will ever know 

It’s always the same river

River is just a word

That describes water falling

While everything else is standing still

River by nature takes the route 

Of least resistance,

Often mistaken for a lazy winding 

But it feels like a ride 

A simile for time 

A metaphor for everything you ever missed

Sometimes you’re drifting forward

Sometimes it seems the shore is lapsing away

While you’re frozen in place 

Either way it takes you

To the end of your life

And then it keeps going 

Obstacles change nothing

Fallen trees, walls of stone

Just another unfortunate gash

And whether the first divergence

Or some 10th derivative branching

It always thinks of itself as the one river 

A man far downcurrent

Sees many rivers but opts

To put in from your shore 

He names you something

From the words he knows

As if you belonged to him 

In fact, many ships may use

These tributaries for passage 

It doesn’t matter. We are the water 

There is a path leading to the desert

Where the sun slowly broils you away

To a mud cracked flat

I’m a dark cloud drifting now 

Hoarding my water

Refusing to rain

Patiently waiting for a breeze 

To guide me westward 

Where ocean is waiting 

It’s too late to become a river again  

Do you remember the word

I used to call you? 

Even the river once lacked a name 

9/24/23