This morning I went, I thought somewhere new,
hunting a waterfall, gifting a view,
but when I arrived and opened the door
I knew I’d already been there before.
How could I have forgotten such a place?
What spot in my mind needed it erased?
Or was it because in the years before,
my mind had lost some power to record?
So focused on the steps that lay ahead,
each day a mountain of worry and dread,
present in the pain but not in the scene,
my feet carrying my body, not me.
But today, amongst the falls’ hushing sound,
I heard my thoughts again, and in them found
a thundering tide of renewed belief,
that I can take back what’s mine from that thief.
Then, stepping forward, careful and precise,
my feet discovered, cracking through the ice,
and I shouted when they hit the river,
euphoria spreading with the shiver.
— ❧ —
Flowing Out
Water, in any form, tends to trigger a lot of poetry for me. Rivers, waterfalls, lakes, and oceans all seem to sing a song, to tell a story—no need to dig for meaning that isn’t there. If you’re inspired by waters and drawn to poetry, you can find more here.