prayer to a river

Stones speak in centuries; they hold no comfort.

They are marked and worn slowly and relentlessly

.The river forks around them,

flowing forever forward.

Water holds no malice.

There is no manipulation. Only eddiesand chaos.

Only tumbles and revelations.

My hands try to cup the water;

But it is cold, and ancient.

It has no patience for my pleas.

There is folly and impertience as I

touch leaves and trample grass.

I let my arrogance drown among the debris,

and walk towards a warm sun.