the stream

when I sit by 

the stream 

I don’t wonder 

what i’ve done 

to deserve it’s trickle

dipping in, 

I don’t doubt 

its willing 

enrapture 

whether from 

this moment 

to next, 

I don’t fret 

it might abandon 

it’s aim 

that as 

it goes, 

it won’t just 

come

all the same 

nor do I ask 

the stream 

“will my reflection 

repulse you?

dear stream,

will my thirst 

repel you?” 

“and what 

of the dirt 

i’ve acquired 

along the way?” 

it’s givenness, 

so shapeless, 

the way it flows 

around any

rigid objections  

and rocky obstructions 

its givenness,

so endless,

the way

it always

finds a way

this, 

the stream,

teaches me 

about love.