I let myself go
in the stream, with the stream
sensing 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 the muscles, legs, jaws

and let them go
in my stream, with my stream
my bed and receding banks
give them the space
of wasted efforts
and bruises on their soul

that seeks its salvation
in the stream, the great stream
without a bed, without banks
and without direction