Prairie Poetry   
  The Stream

if you stand here
long enough-
here at the edge-
where it flows past you
in a hurriedness
of splash and roll
of white foam over rock,
soon, wave after wave,
you begin to understand
that this is your life,
and there, beneath the surface,
where the sun glitters with aquatic stars,
are the smiles you gave.
they all go by in a rush,
down there,
under the bridge,
and around that last bend,
If you follow,
you will disappear with it,
and become these black rocks
the water runs over,
like rain in a graveyard
of wet, polished stone.

  Jennifer Crivlare
  Copyright © 2004 Jennifer Crivlare
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