The thing about rivers is that they keep going. They insist on it even. They splash and shimmer onward as if saying: “This way! And hurry!” And when water ripples up over some immersed obstacle then twists around itself like some balletic diversion, it quickly rights itself and rejoins the forward chorus.
I imagine that rivers are parallel to something, an energy perhaps or just discarded desire. I don’t know how many things I’ve let go of by now because they didn’t want me to hold them or because I could never truly grasp them.
There are so many beautiful things
in life that we will never have.
Does that diminish us?
I know where every river ends,
and so do you. I prefer
their view from bridges
so that I can walk away
any direction that I choose.