f l o w s
past the thousand beautiful places
where it might stay
on and on it goes
splashing over the smoothe bare rocks
their subtle colors shining in the sun
past the grapevine tangle, the maple leaves,
the rotten logs and green-gold moss.
seeping through the crevices where the crawdad hides
down and over
to linger in a pool.
for what is
From where it comes, there it shall return
everthing is cool.