The Same River

To step into the same river again?
They say you cannot
It’s never the same

Yesterday I was in it
Swimming without knowing
Which way the current flowed
Seeking still land
Desperate to stay afloat
Dry land
An impossible leap

Today on the bank
In wet mud
One foot feels the current
The other questions existence

To step into the river again
To choose a job
To choose a spouse
To choose a country
To sit with a friend
To be at home

The privileged exercise
Their luxury of pondering
While ants scurry
To build their homes

Gratitude connects
The ones paying attention

Spring explodes while I walk
Bright leaves to the right
Purple flowers to the left
A part of the mind
That understands little
Tries to decide
Which way to look

A poet sits in the grass
Half shade half sun
Sounds of cheering
Stream through the window

Four hundred dollars was just won
A six year old
A nine year old
A sixty nine year old
Play monopoly on a wooden floor

I sit between generations writing
It’s cold in the shade
I move into the sun

My neighbor’s two year old
Picks up plastic cones
And a ball
“I do a race” he says
He lines the cones
And kicks the ball

The shadow of the tip of
A black pen
Moves on paper
Some days poetry writes itself

Gabriel points to my toes
“Toes” he says
“How many toes do I have?” I ask
“Two”
I point and count
“One, two”
He smiles
“Are there more?” I ask
“Yes”
“How many”
“Two”
“One, two” I respond
“Are there more?”
“NO!”

Two year-olds have a way
Of being decisive

To step into something
To build a boat
To leave while still a raft
To sit at home with a friend

Choices decisions
A part of the mind that understands little
Makes pros cons lists
Tries to pick with precision
Its exact direction

A friend knocks gently on the door
And asks without a fuss —

Can you smell what it’s like
When it rains in spring?