It is Wednesday and in my dreams
a river swollen
flooded above the banks, climbing and swallowing
and meeting my legs on the cliff’s edge
I was taken
grasping skinny
tree limbs
panicked and young
I have no mind in dreams
no assumption of destiny
like an ant ascending into a flower
seamless with the stalk
petting around for food
or to find a better grip
nature’s impulse manifest
in a black and unseen crawl
no delusions of grandeur
no amount of thinking will manipulate the river
no misunderstanding will corrupt natural law
I fight the current, exhausted I sink
I trust in stillness, no mind, I float
when nectar is, it is found
I watch ants in a desert stupor
and wonder if it is only humans
who lust for meaning
and if our search is made less
of truth and more
of controlling the river.