desertion at last from the crumbling of human existence

far better when their soiled footsteps turn for home

then the river banks belong once again to the common

the bird, the fish and the fisherman-- more fish than man

even with no one here, the water still talks to itself

much more to say when the only remaining listeners

are those with ears too familiar to hear much at all

just jumbled parts and scraps of a river neighborhood

humanity's visits are a cacophony of chatter and arrogance

these civilized creatures deaf except for the rattle of their minds

tantrums abound slinging frustration for possessions yet obtained

when in the cracks of his soles are the treasures of all the earth

too much seen of random lives for the stoic river to be silent

to ponder upon if man or beast wears a coat of wisdom

or if the instinct of the undomesticated bares no falsehoods

more respect than shown by those in fine suits of clothes

river calm now for its resting starts when pulling in the sun

and when the birds steal discarded silk ribbons for their floors

the fish mock with swishing tails the tombs of cities and houses

knowing the people's desertion to be the flourishing of their lives