The river

Time flows down.

Its source
remains
forgotten.

It becomes
everything:
the star
lighting
at the center,
a gemstone planet with a mirroring moon,
the blue liquid which washes its surface,
the stream of melting ice
that,
in its habitual path,
reassures the bank
of a river.

It is also the space containing it all,
and all moments chained by causes and effects.

I am a river.

I mold the current of time
with my habits,
making time
dance
my existence.

The river