Grasping Light

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 fate.

To 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 make.

His 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.