River Thinking

A little chipmunk darts

across sticks, tossed

on the ground as if by chance.

Ripples in the stagnant eddy

come and go;

escaping at a moment’s notice.

Fleeting, like that little chipmunk,

who is staring at me now.

It blinks.

I blink,

it scurries away.

To my left the river

carries on,

but time is irrelevant on

my right hand.

The left is an attractive,

thrilling force,

that I sometimes don’t understand.

The right is a place of which I should not

demand answers.

But I’m weak to curiosity.

I ask myself one question:

Who am I

to disturb its peace?

I am allowed to bask in the sun

for this moment,

Then, like a heron,

I’ll fly back home.