I came upon a river,
as wide as the years
spent to to find it.

I took of my shoes,
to rest down beside it.

And as I stopped
to think of a way
to make it across
the waters someday,

my hair turned grey,
my flesh to dust,
and the river swept me away.

I raged and I churned,
I frothed through the years.

I carved through the earth,
deep valleys and streams.

I devoured all in my path:

animals and travelers,
I held nothing back.

Until at last came a ferryman
slowly drifting with ease.

His eyes fully open,
with a soft smile and care.

I surged fully violent,
to consume him with my wake.

But as his oar pierced my skin --
Oh, agony's bright light!

His oar parted then,
and my drops diffracted the sky:

the stars and the moon,
all jewels within my mind!

Again and again:
deliberate strokes against my rage.

As he made his way across,
my mighty rapids became

rhythmic lapping on the shore.

Then he laid down his oar,
and prostrated three times

fully bent and out-stretched
with his head on the floor.

Surprised, I looked the side
to see who he met reverently.

And, what did I see? Myself, just as before.
Already standing on the other shore.