What’s concerning is not that
sparrows are fluttering from the trees,
lurching in a riot of distant wind,
but that it’s due to rain tonight.
Below this footbridge
the water passes so slowly
that if it weren’t for
the narrow yellow leaves
floating along its dark,
it wouldn’t seem to be moving at all.
And this rain is due to change this.
Upstream, the stone lip
this river falls over will change,
from its curtain of silence
to a pitching rush of water.
The quail within
the shaded canary grass
will either drown or run far away.
And the willow tree
whose leaves continue
serenely past me,
will have exposed yet another root.
But there’s no gloom here.
Things will only continue moving.
My heart will only be beating.
These leaves will only continue assimilating,
as this bridge becomes a stitch,
as these clouds gather
while I breathe in and out,
as this river changes entirely,
while not really changing at all.