The Evening Blue

The river pours and fjords its way,
bursting over seams in the glade,
calling bramble and brash to play
before exhaling in cascade.

Where it cannot push, it dances,
when it cannot burrow, it leaps.
Determinedly, it advances
as it descends the mountain steep.

And paused there in the evening blue
I can see now that I was wrong.
I'm not the river running through
but the earth that creates the song.