Zywa
Harmony / Chaos
I let myself go
in the stream, with the stream
I sense
the bed, the banks
My fingertips brush the rocks
and the crocodiles
feel where they crush
at which angles they cut
I know the tension
of their muscles, legs, jaws
and I let them go
in my stream, with my stream
My bed and receding banks
give them the space
of wasted efforts
and squishy spots on their soul
that seeks salvation
in the stream, the great stream
without a bed, without banks
and without direction
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