Does The

Does the river feel the rocks the sandy grit the boulders

that shape its way to the sea; does the rasp of granite in

its forms bruise the cheek as it rushes forward long; do

the stumps and branches shred like brush stroked hair; is

there pain aplenty, being dashed and pulverized falling

headlong through torrents and, after, splayed to the sun

through a shallow run; are you, finally, known by your

journey, by the landscapes that shape you, rasp and grab

you, tumble and splinter, ‘til you’ve forgotten who began

the journey; then, does the sea invite you, to rest, to lay

in its arms, in the mingle of rivers and scars, slowly

passing, in the quiet loss of memory, to a deeper sleep

than ever known…

‘til, in the alchemy for which the sea is known,

you regain unblemished face, and rise through

transformation, as pure drops of breathless motion,

until finding wakefulness, once again, in a river’s rush…

to the sea.