she is free
moving
in all directions at once,
yes, even backwards
in the eddies,
the swirling backwater
holding still
the leaf circling
and circling
and circling,
it seems stuck,
for a while,
yet we know
it's only a matter of time
before the rain pours
the thunder crashes
the storm resumes
to bless
this river
that all may rush forward
and cleanse these little pockets
of decaying matter,
the rocks actually budge
once in a while,
when the stream isn't but a trickle
where tiny little pebbles
are now exposed to the sunlight
the river
she is free
to be all things,
to tumble,
an shake,
and spray high into the air,
and fall,
far far below
creating waves,
and hitting bottom,
in quiet clear pools
the mist in the morning
the frost of winter
the steam in August
washing
washing
washing
us free
the river
she is free
to hurry
or be lazy
but always
a river
she is free
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