A river is the same, but only in name
Upstream and downstream, pure at the source
Salty at the finish, much changes as it swells
To it full grown size, only a few lucky drops
Witness it’s rise upstream and it’s fall downstream
The rest, swallowed up by the sun and the land
The river of thought is unrelenting, one may step in
Easily upstream, at the source, if it can be found
It’s depth increases downstream, in preparation for its meeting
With the world, the body’s too frail to swim to its depths
Perhaps why seekers are to be found high in the mountains
Where the fresh springs are drinkable, unlike the brine downstream
