The River Time We Abide
our faces familiar
but different than before
from the one-another we both knew
the fuzzy-lit dream
of those years ago flickers
faintly, dull across our aging eyes
skipping frames forgot,
swallowed in the rise and rush,
the rhythms of The River Time we abide
echoes of Heraclitus
resound the same in our ears
as they do in canyons still carving
and so we heed his words
though whetted, weighted with regret,
"You cannot step in the same river twice."
(*)
acknowlegement to Bronwen Dickey and her essay, The Last Wild River,
http://bronwendickey.com/writing/the-last-wild-river.php
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