Eater of Rivers – a poem

When do the waters slow, their current stemmed

From that flow so fast, a dam desired for pause

Rather than for power or caprice of many, cause

Lined against affect to drive onward the struggle.

*

We’d ask how wild the days need to be, how sere,

As if they ran on a singular compass turning,

Turning, burning on the edge of a feather, whirl

In the patterns of stars, yet calm still eludes.

*

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