Watching the River


The seasons are a river
passing beneath me
as I stand isolated 
on the decaying wood
of this termite-ridden bridge, 
never feeling the cool waters,
never drinking its clear sustenance.

I watch it shimmer 
and listen to its song,
a liquid gem
grabbing sunlight
like a handful of gold
and tossing it in the air
to share with the world,
but I’m too far away
to catch a coin,
too far away to hear
exactly what it’s singing,
too far away
for it to be anything
but a living clock
counting the days that pass,
reminding me that it flows on
while I remain still. 

One day this bridge will break
and I will be immersed in the river,
singing with it,
feeling its currents
wrap me in a timeless embrace.