The River

A poem is like a river.
Something stirs beneath tectonic plates
deep in the womb
Of creation.
Words come together like drops
Of water
Growing in their urge
Upward to the light
Erupting like a forceful spout
Or gently dropping in a slow stream
Out of the opening in the mind
Gathering in force
Rushing past
the boulders of resistance
Into the gentle channel of cohesion,
Polished by the pebbles of definition
Like a broad river.
Dividing into manifold rivulets
Nourishing the fields of human endeavor,
Or becoming
The strong flow of a tributary
Carrying the vessels of inspiration
Out into the open sea .