(no subject)

[trick]

the river starts at just a trickle;
the rough edges stutter, give and take.
they gain momentum, pushed through passion,
riding white rapids, tumbled down and
salting the water with sweat and tears.

the sand pulls up, starts chipping away
pieces lost without regret, tossed by
the thrill of motion. waves pound
and from their thunder emerges the stone;
smoother curves and a stronger build,
drying up on sun-bleached sand.

and i wonder now:
will i ever weather
the sea like that
again?