Currents, 

or a Call to Wildness Sings in the Night for Our Fall into the Pull Familiar, it Enchants though Not 

as Well as When We Sing Our Own Song; If We are the Ocean, We Cannot be Swept into the Currents

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When overlooking the streamlines jetty,

There is a pull to idleness abandoned,

It feels simple and smooth as a lover wet,

Calling for you,

The current submerging moves the body along.

The ebon flowing drunk and coursing,

Leading only to waterfall and swelling whirlpools –

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Then, when all that is felt is of darkness dry,

Bones and pearls sunk:

The body hollowed from swallowing watered salt.

Is it well to control the surging body,

Sing the refrains of your contained sea organs!

Captivating the streamed veins, become the ocean:

Jagged white caps,

Metallic in sunbeam beacons toward the heavens.

Depth is found in swimming against these currents,

And I happily will drown in fluid composed bodies,

As the godeye moon ever runs me aright,

Rising, falling:

Pool of wild bodies swaying deep into their own wild night.

There is always a pull as much as there is always drive. In the night we mark not the ways in which our river-veins flow, we round the oxbow and dive into the chaotic currents driven by that of another. We all are comprised of water, and as such, we have the capacity to “flood”: our ideas, our lives, everything. When we release our swelling pulse into our own path, it becomes a current all its own. We see it clear, yet faintly perhaps, under the sun; it is when the moon comes that we see the other paths, ours darkened. Do we stay course and flood toward our own ocean, or do we cross elsewhere? If we are water, consider how difficult it would be for one stream to cross into another – it is easy for flesh to break away, but if we are to flood freely and become the greatness of the ocean, we refrain. This is written as much for you or a friend, as much as this is written for myself. True strength is often found in the calm and steady wake.