Rivers of inspiration
shimmy across the canvas
of that illusive cranny, cleft,
cataract, flume; where
some images linger, some
disappear before I can grasp
gone, on the edge of being;
of rushing
refractions into distance.
Some leave their imprint;
some leave reflections of being
or not being. Some exist only
as memories, flowing, flooding,
wide and tranquil, urgent,
or fictional. Facts of water
constantly disappearing.
Expected, anticipated,
vital