It has its own memory,
arriving, already born,
from a place too secretive
to imagine.

Alien to the sun’s reflection
and moon’s half dark sky,
its blood surges from earth’s
wound,

consuming the impurities
of its new environment.
There is no sleep or silence,
resting only when it runs deep.

Here, it holds the pictures of
children’s faces, as they stare
into its crystal ball, where
paper boats fly above

an underwater world of bubbles
and mind moving creatures.
Though, to live, and to give,
its journey must continue.

Carrying the weight of the sky
on its back, the magnet of mother
ocean is too strong to ignore.
It is there now,

pushing at the pressure of a strong tide.
And the watchful sky dims, as the river
slides below the start of another journey,
to a place too secretive to imagine.

 

© Rowland Hughes – November 2016.