I look into the river 

and see how my reflection

moves helplessly in its flow.

It’s moved and changed,

but left stationary, 

not moved along 

like the fishes 

and pebbles

and floating leaves

but fading and breaking

with the images beyond me.

I feel in danger of being broken up 

and washed away

piece by piece.

Such sweet watery sounds should ease my spirit,

should shut out the babbling inside me.

But even though spring is on its way

I know that winter 

will find a way


my broken ears,

in any case.


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