I am not the same 

I wonder how to swim to the rhythm of the river

I hear Chester purring softly on the bed of the bank 

I see the swans and geese soaring South, seeking sustenance

I want to rid the river of all repugnance

I am not the same

I pretend I am living freely 

I feel the colors of the wind dyeing my hair its true colors

I touch the waves of the river, cool and slippery against my finger

I worry about

The river’s rhythm

The tadpoles’ tempo

The baboons’ beat

I cry at the mere thought of the melody’s mortality 

I am not the same

I understand that our journey through the river flows one way 

But our journey through reality flows two ways

I say to prove that understanding is easier said than done

I dream of rowing a boat on the river, savoring each stroke of the oar

I try to 

Row,

Then rest.

Row,

Then rest.

I hope I can row with the river with the grace of a giver

I am not the same