Lateral Erosion

It’s never been 

enough for me 

to just see the stream 

at my left or my right; 

to watch the river

in front of me or

behind.

It puzzles in me - 

they puzzle in me - 

an opening wisdom.

I have always wanted 

to know where it comes 

from and where it goes;

how it stretches itself 

out across great sweeps 

of space and where 

it came from in geologic

time - from unboundedness

to here.

Where does it fit with 

the roads we have made;

where does it match with 

the paths of the deer.

What did it look like 

when the Lenape

kneeled at her banks 

and what will it look like 

after the next Ice Age.

What feeds it and 

what does it feed.

All of these suppose

a standing on higher

ground; both in space

and in time.  A vantage 

point to see the what,

and where of the

how and when.  

In what age 

did the side-winding

meander cut itself loose

and break out of its

lateral erosion and flood

itself straight.  When were

the banks one hundred 

feet further apart and how

deep was she then.  Where 

does the bend go before I

cross it again five miles down

the road.  I can feel these

things in her and I yearn to

know more of her ways.

It is the wonder of

open spaces and the 

grandeur of what may

have been; it is the awe

of what lay ahead, and

the beauty of what is.

The sacredness of waters

lay in all her drops in 

place and sequence; how

she holds herself in 

and against all

space and time.

It’s never been 

enough for me 

to just see the stream 

at my left or my right; 

to watch the river

in front of me or

behind.