Waterworks

I sat midstream, a river rock
worn smooth and rounded by
caresses of constant companionship.
Tickled by playful eddies;
hypnotized by the prismatic effect
of my good loves.

When the penstocks and sluiceways
went to work upstream,
the water disappeared with a shock;
diverted to some other purpose.
Exposed and achingly dry,
I felt myself cracking.

After a time the water returned, crystallized;
abrading edges and points.
After a dozen years of quiet contentment
I find myself rubbed raw.

I crave the natural cycles of flood and drought,
the surface of the water alternately
within reach, my fingertips dancing
just below the glassy mosaic;
then rushing far overhead,
the strong current carrying
artifacts from upstream
while I remain firmly settled
in my rightful place.

-oct 07