The Thick of It

thicket

I am distanced from the river
but a pace or two of fancy;
and could drift there any moment
just to trace symbols on the sand –
or nap
or fish
or launch a child’s raft.

Yet there is a barrier of sorts,
more ephemeral than stalwart,
but quite effective none the less
in keeping me on the creative path –
writing
reaching
to ease the world’s pain.

It is much like a wild thicket,
so lushly and green in warm-time
and stark foreboding in fallow
that I stick to the questing trail –
yearning
knowing
of work still bedone.

For the wall of leaves sings to me
of awe and wonder and learning;
while the complex weave of living
murmur of mem’ries not put to rest –
guiding
showing
a forging of tomorrow.

Either way I am reminded
that the river runs endlessly
from His Mountain to the Her Sea,
and soon again as mist and rain
rising
falling
like simple love in me.

faucon

~ by faucon on January 16, 2007.

2 Responses to “The Thick of It”

  1. Reminds me of the line from the Garden of Proserpine, “. . .that even the weariest river runs, somewhere safe to sea. . .”

  2. I liked this one very much for we are all as leaves on water drifting outward to the sea Fran

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