" A River "
A river springs in secret,
falls in liquid ribbons to the sea.
Bisecting land her currents run
like long-haired dancers,
tendrils free and flowing back--
water's wind moves constant as the sun.
A river's presence begs a mystery;
though she ever changes
she remains new and grand,
sheds her gowns for others of the same,
retains her name after
a hundred years have passed.
A river knows her age;
is prey to weather's whims.
Unless she be a mighty queen
drought can cause an early death.
The earth is wrinkled where she ran.
Others diminish and return
in ancient cycles of death, rebirth.
My river plays the hostess well;
I sit and watch the birds
dive down to fetch a fish.
Trees bow along her swollen girth,
and insects lift on wings
above people in the boats
floating on the power of her dreams.
© 2003 M. Kathryn Black
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