Just downstream from that dark place,
Where last beats fell and waters churned
A man looked down upon his face...
In reverie, his thoughts did turn:
To follow the river is to follow the arc
It does not drift, it does not wait
Find its course with limb and mind
There walks a man;
There runs his fateTo follow the river is to follow the thread
It does not lie, it does not leave
Drowning stones there as he does,
He comes to think;
He comes to breathe
Something of that ember lives!
He feels it bide, he feels it wake
Looking out, but at itself,
As if to speak;
As if to makeHis vision forming, flowing now
In tumbling verse, in melting song
Crafting words there as he does
They echo out,
They echo on:"But a vessel, alive,
For a time, I would thrive,
That was all,
Nothing more lay below it...
But a vessel, adrift,
Not a theft, nor a gift,
That was all -
But a pulse, but a poet"
To drink from the river is to meet with the arc
And drink until quenched
The man did
But a vessel, adrift,
Not a theft, nor a gift,
That was all -
But a pulse
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