Move, Or Be Moved

Mostly, I’m water, easy, moving free,

slipping through the world with my own liberty,

a sight not typically the scene of jeopardy.

Many pass with greetings, feed me, offer shelter;

Others take joy in my coolness and beauty.

Yet some are startled, afraid, and knocked off course

They stumble, fall, and block my flow

With knots of emotion, they present their arms.

They bark their limits: Stop. Not here.

A barrier built, and so I begin to pool,

rising, growing, deep, and mighty.

But water doesn’t bargain; water doesn’t plead.

I pause, collect, then push against their planks—

match their limits, then a bit more,

spilling over their hardpan top.

Rocks fall. Mud shifts. Ravines begin.

I spill, and spill more over the edge,

a dendritic drainage, unyielding, disarranged,

a shape no rigid mind can withstand.

And when the current claims you, grain by grain,

You’ll find yourself dissolved into a lower plain,

left where I leave you,

as I slip into the aquifer to feed trees, lakes, and streams

bringing life to this world once more.