A river has a wellspring,
a river has an ending.
Even here, in this eddy,
bubbles are rising, falling.
Look carefully, the river is like you.
Everything is like you, wet or warm,
windy or solid as a mountain.
Look with disdain
at the picture of the world
you have been given.
Look with abandon,
in the way the body turns to stars
when it has been freed from captivity.
Look because your eyes are here.
Look until the river shows you its name,
and why it cannot be spoken.
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