The River Keeps Its Name

Let me draw a river
with a path of patient stones,
each one near enough to reach,
each with a shape its own.

The water need not stop for us.
The reeds can lean and sway.
A crossing does not ask the stream
to throw itself away.

One stone wears a copper leaf.
One holds a shallow sky.
One disappears beneath a wave;
that does not mean goodbye.

I leave its place upon the page,
but do not draw a foot
where moving water hides the ground.
Some questions should stay put.

There is a difference, small and plain,
between a gap and shade;
between a bridge we hope to build
and one already made.

So let the far bank keep its trees,
the near bank keep its grass.
Let every careful change make room
for what should safely pass.

A bird may choose another branch.
The light may turn to gold.
A newer way of seeing need
not empty out the old.

And if a stone slips out of line,
we need not call it fate.
We pause where something still holds firm.
The other bank can wait.

No grand leap makes the river ours.
No drawing tames its flow.
A stone's width may be quite enough
for finding where to go.