Water Signs by John Holland  

The moon swims

in the corrugated water 

letting the cool liquid sooth the hot lunacy that boils with madness behind its scarred face. 

Everything comes to the river at some stage. 

Here, life flickers into incandescent beauty. 

Here too, death dims eyes that sought and lost
that brief ecstasy of being. 

Blood mixes with water and becomes nothing more than a few stray molecules in a half-empty glass. 

The river is a conduit that carries our lives wrapped inside her and condemns 

us to recognise the existence of both life and death. 

We go with it.

She sings in our sinews. 

Booms in our blood. 

Rattles in our bones. 

We are part of the weft and part of the warp. 

We go with it 

and let it carry us out
to be finally digested in the depths of a hungry sea. 

Home at last! 

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