Into the Flow

I chased the shadow I once cast,

like keys I’d misplaced in the past—

checking old rooms,

lifting cushions,

peering under the bed of years.

But the thing I sought had slipped away,

a current curling beyond my gaze.

Round the bend of memory’s shore,

it flows where I can’t follow anymore.

The river does not keep what it carries,

it remakes with the rain.

Every stone worn smooth is a story,

every current calls my name.

If I want to hold myself at all,

I must step into the flow—

let the water take me whole,

and let go.

The river sings of what it’s lost,

but never stops, it never stops.

Each breath of rain,

each ripple born,

it’s breaking, mending, being reborn.

And here I stand in shallows wide,

the water folding round my thighs.

And suddenly, I recognise:

the self I sought is in the tide.