with landbound legs a wish
for the easy flow of a river - not
the clambering up crags to seek
more favour from the sun
(or long-haired moon) harped for
since those sparks of who am i
first clicked through consciousness
how the river sidles round
rocks blocking the painful straight
seems to brush aside
all snags disrupting its ambition
to be sea - certain from its source
downwardness is good - legs dont have
that gift (being boned with doubt)
rivers in their waywardness
become a rattling cage of tigers
when the storm god snarls
legs are happy then
to have hard ground to run away on
legs and rivers you could say
should show compassion for each other
as if legs themselves arent rivers
when (from hip to toe) the energy
runs down from impulses
the high brain sources - summers joys
or winters nobbling aches
make the same ground safe
or fearful - as when the river legs it
legs or rivers - the games alike
seasons distort the flow
in age the rivers more appealing
(legs have a way of silting up)
after the high grounds turmoils
you hope for the sanctity of meadows
a kind of green relief
legs feed on past dreams (now
kick a ball the leg drops off)
rivers are geared to what comes next
even in the seas maw
hope is on their lips (ever) - legs
rest on their elegiac laurels
with the weight off them they flow best
