And then this
A spring, the water
feeding on air
I thought,
Let the world be replenished
But, no, the world
replenishes itself
Loud current, green leaf
The fallen log
be runneth over
until rock:
Nature smoothes its future,
becomes hard as a fossil
in the tumbling flow
We are warned.
A funnel, an umbrella
The reverse of an umbrella
The force washes me now
downriver, everything
important
left behind
and I cannot
go back
to get it
The Writing of John B. Randall 