Going Back

Going Back

Nothing will ever be
as it was before.
Time, like water,
like these people marching,
constantly flows.

It trickles through my fingers,
unstoppable sand
filtering through
the hour glass’ waist.

You cannot walk
in the same river twice.
Water flows, currents shift,
rocks wear down,
banks crumble and fall.

However hard I try
I cannot recapture
that first, fine, careless rapture,
the touch of that first
drop of river water.

Kneeling by the river bank,
like St. Kevin and the Blackbird,
I cannot recall
the river’s name.

One thought on “Going Back

  1. I love this — “you can’t walk in the same river twice”. When you live on the banks of a river you know this fact since you just can’t watch it without observing all the constant changes as it rolls past toward whatever ocean it will empty in. Once I wanted to be a cook on a barge that would float down the Ohio to the Mississippi and empty into the Gulf waters of Louisiana. What a trip that would be. Unfortunately I get seasick just watching the boats float by so that was not a feasible goal. And all this just about one sentence! Great poem Roger.


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