The River Walk

Walking along the muddy path by the sparkling, flowing river Boots squelch down in puddles that lie in wait for me like small marshlands.   Water mixed with earth And cow dung Trampled by the heavy feet of hunters after pigs, and men and women– skidding now and then on patches of that treacherous clay– after the bright reflections of their own inner peace.   The river so high in winter with sun that shows itself just here and there in vast surpassing blue Gleaming through the darkening clouds shining far into that deep green massive water lined with reaching trees.   And all the canals And waterways, Weirs and water gates still directing its flow After generations Have abandoned the efforts Of hundreds of years;   The ingenuity of mills The wonders of knowing how To use the force of all that flow Creating and maintaining; Streaming human wealth from that ever-changing river forging down those mountains. Lives given to the grinding of grain, The sawing of logs And finally the weaving of cloth.   And I am here seeking forgiveness From the trees And finally finding That it is there Flowing fast and strong Through us all As those humans who fashioned all this artifice Must have known in the quiet of their souls, pretending with their faith their will would reign supreme to direct what cannot ever be turned back, And will never be denied.   And I turn my face To the force of All that water As it batters Through my walls.