April 23


Why do you always resist me? What can the stone do to the river? Are you afraid because your strength lies in your turbulence and not in your substance? If you slowed down, I could take you in my mouth–move through you gleaming like a fish–and if it is true that you are so mighty, why does the river come to the stone to rest? You roar down the side of the mountain startling everything in your path–beetles–goats leaning in for a drink–until you come to the bottom of the hill and then you curl around me-the mossy stone.  Am I holding the river or is the river holding me? What do you want with me, if you are so mighty–why do you always come back–holding on as if something bigger might sweep you away?  You stay floating on your belly for an afternoon–watch the sun push shadows over–listen to the silence of warm air–then I feel you grow strong and restless again–I know you will rush on–forgetting the stone or that the river ever needed the stone-you are like that–you remember nothing but your own roar. I am too lonely to be a stone-call me something else, Diego.