The river doesn’t stop
on a humid afternoon — but I do.
Water and air are mingled, and
all the sounds I hear —
human, animal, elemental —
are thick with the substance of life
on this water planet.
It makes me glad —
this is much more than I had a moment ago,
driving down the road.
I hope that I shall always have
a river to stop beside,
to remind, more than the sea, that
I am on a journey into me,
that I do not and cannot belong to any creed,
that I’m a witness and a consort of truth —
so how can I believe?
Sundown low spills gold into the stream.
I just relax and get quiet,
knowing what it means —
water is speaking in the language of light,
and if I listen just right
I get the proof —
I cannot hear
anything but truth.
I cannot hear anything
but truth.
I cannot hear anything but truth!
© Gerry Sackett, 2012
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| A river to stop beside; photo by Tony Russell |
