The River

A Poem by Tim Edwards

The glass ripples on the crescent moon. The ink black water of the River climbs to soak the canvas of my torn soles. Easing myself off the granite edge, I debate the ever questioning. Shall I jump straight in? No, I wouldn't last long. The choice truly seems clear. The road of time and temperance seems my ultimate path.

Closing my eyes, I can feel individual grains in the ever growing banks of the River. Each with its own motives, to move this way or that. One more step, the water seethes over my ankles, whispering cold longings. Three more steps, the weight is apparent. Abundance surrounds my thighs, threatening to push over the infinitesimal obstacle.

Two steps and all is bliss. No longer is the body treated as an obstacle, but as a congruous appendage. Breathing no longer matters, the ease and flow of the River will lead. Its direction, I will follow.