River still quite high from the spate.
Drinks in the sunlight that stretches the breadth,
Warming itself without guilt.
Clean, cleansing water to heal a tortured soul
Warming only the surface,
The under still untold.
Driven with purpose, flitting with the pull,
Sometimes fighting, idle
Ignites a foreign flow.
Wicked river he said as he left.
Dappling on the surface in the merciful light,
Dull, dark and damaged,
Did spring take your glory?
You are in charge.
Deciding what and how to be
As the curve of the bed a-lines
Pressure builds behind
You fall onto sunken course.
Angela Margaret Main