White Water

i am the river
you are the sea
your feminine tides
are a haven to me
my current is fickle
i meander and roam
your vastness awaits me
like a wanderers home
i start with the dew
on a fern-covered hill
then change to a trickle
as i gather my will
nothing can stop me
not tree nor a stone
i flow down the mountain
i rumble and moan
i grow in my power
to a trembling brook
i trample the earth
through rill and by nook
born in the ferns
of an Arkansas height
massed are the droplets
combined in my might
i soon am a river
spawned by a cliff
and the rock that i carve
is my own hieroglyph

october 1982