Part of the growing collection that I'm thinking of calling "Currents" one
day. This is a sort of sonnetish poem.
SLOWED DOWN THOUGH HAS NOT STOPPED
The sun still reflects off water
where driftwood lays near the waterline
or sticks out from the river
that looks like it might have slowed
with an illusion that it has stopped;
though I know this will not happen.
I ponder other fears and illusions, constant change
and permenancy, though the current
still flows, water birds bob,
swim upon it - all living creatures know
noen of this can remain forever -
even the water will change with the tide today.
Even the sense that the river has slowed
down and has not stopped is an illusion.
bw
James
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