The Meaning of Rivers

Stones trace the flowing river
with protruding hands.
While forest birds and deer drink
from the chalice of the water.
To seek the solitude of the moment
like that which dwells contented within the glade,
a river of moods birthed
in the mountains of a dream.

Is it peace that I seek
while the quiet within the forest is heard?
Flowers fed like the river by rain and mountain spring.
Flowing water to suckle the morning dew.
Like those that to heaven ascend,
a rainbow ends the falling rain.

Trees and wild flowers
change the colors of reflection.
The dragonfly rests upon the reed.
It will not roam beyond the tether of the stream.

Am I not so fastened by my love for you?
Not by chain or hemp but by a thought.
I too am altered by that which cannot be written.
Perhaps I should a deeper river seek.
Trout that dwell in flowing water
or in the shadows of the reed.

The river moves to a tempo
not measured by tasks or daily planner.
Winter storms or the quiet
of a summer day create
the momentum of the stream.
A mood is formed in rushing water,
or a prayer heard in the abbey of a quiet pool.

Is it to remain unknown
that which is sought beside the flowing water?
Perhaps St. Bridget knelt before the stream,
a reed to weave into a cross,
to speak to gods upon the bank
of stone and dampened lawn.
Should not your flowing water
comfort me at last?

Its path, the claw marks
of a glacial age and falling rain.
Am I too changed
by that which does not yield
to the common law of nature?
The lines about my cheeks
amended by events that cannot be altered.
Like the flowing river,
forever changing in its course.