The River beneath the River

An artist is someone who can touch
The invisible River that flows beneath
the River everyone else can see.


The White-veined River Runs


The white-veined river runs
Through ancient stems and
Black-breasted roots,
Webbing through our planet
Like frothy falls spinning lives
From autumn rain, and spitting leaves
Into black lakes.

It stops neither here nor there,
Mapping givers and takers
And leaving debris from storms
In its wake.

It has no destination other than itself,
And does not mind the eroding of mountains,
Or the taking of careless lives.
It leaves little for space and time,
And plunges happily back
To its own beginning after lapping
A life-time on its origin.