The River

Creeks do not climb mountains.

they burble, bubbling along,

chattering over pebbles and sand,

twisting and turning,

cascading, falling into rivulets and streams.

Streams do not climb mountains,

they flow through tree lined gullies,

down waterfalls, and racing rapids,

growing in depth and pace,

the peaceful, gentle flow,

that races,

deepening, widening.

Rivers do not climb mountains.

majestic, powerful,

flooding, deep and dark,

sometimes steady waters

parading through cities their streams

sometimes violent and angry,

invading, destroying,

water-born misery.

I am these waters.

Shallow,

twisting,

joyful,

deepening,

dried out,

dark, deep,

blackness

flooding.

I am a river.

I cannot climb mountains.

You are an eagle,

Far above the highest height,

Carried aloft by your wings,

riding the winds,

Swooping and soaring

fierce and majestic,

You belong to the skies

You see me

and leaving your lofty heavens

You turn to face the earth,

and falling towards me.

you join my waters

until I envelop you,

catching you,

encompassing you,

weighing you down,

drowning, dying.

A sinking stone

To fly no more.

But my depths cannot hold your deathly descent

For you are heaven born.

There is a stirring in the mud and the slime,

You rise out of my depths,

you rise from my murky wet grave,

you escape my clammy hands,

clutching an eternity's drowning darkness,

you return to my banks,

to call me,

even in my darkest deep,

you call me

and as you became me,

I become you,

and in this mystery,

my dark waters of inconsistency,

shallow, deep,

peaceful, raging,

waters of life,

waters of death,

all of my stream,

my flawed and tragic flow

is caught up in you….

I am always a river,

you are the eagle,

and in my waters

there is a reflection,

you are seen in me,

an eagle in my watery mirror,

I am a river and you

are my eagle,

reflected in the sunlight

that dances across

my silvery ripples,

soaring high,

higher,

together

above all

who are climbing mountains.