Crossing

I tiptoe maybe too loudly
Across the rocks in the river.
Too broken to be a bridge,
The sharp sound of water as it
Cuts around my feet.

Sometimes a splash, the bitter freshness
The cold on my skin, the clear blue smell,
The stable sameness and saneness
Momentarily gone in a flash, at the back
Of my throat, of my mind,
The sweet stolen shifting spring,
Sought out, the sash of the spray,
The sheer shifting snake, running glass,
I'm running fast, hissing whips in a perspex mesh,
Everything so clear, and yet so different.

After a while, everything drained.
No contrast between the crags and the course,
Both seem so still now. Still humble, yet
My motivation lags, and maybe
I should accidentally stumble,
Fall into the brook. Into the mystery mirror,
One first, final, look.