splashing at the bends before
settling down again.
Little whitecaps belie the deep undertow
of quiet and knowing repose
rushing through my belly below.
And following a predestined path set before
over a million years and more,
I do not hammer or drive into the stone
at my side—it is with instinctive ease
that I bend and twist and glide.
I have no need to resist what lies ahead
as I wash on by.
Let the howling winds chip away the stone,
let the rain drive a wider channel—
I am going the way of angels.
© 1997 Shoshana Wolfington