The river flows
and giggles.

Sails wide unfurl,
the man in the bow
allows the horizon
to be born in his eyes.

In the man's hands
there is a land,
a shore,
for him to name.

The river flows  
and giggles.

A willow in a sand bank
is no geography,
only a choreography
in the amphitheater.

The river giggles
and flees, in its flow.