WATER WHEEL

Ripples are to creeks what waves are to the sea.
If water has memory,
falls must remind us what it's like to be free.

Where do things go when they are no longer wild?
Tossed within the waves of grief--
do they succumb to apathy?

Time chips away at stone with the rush of water.
Glaciated formations and decades of stillness--
no tide, no ripple, no evidence of movement.

Wait long enough and you'll see the glow--
a sunburst through a shudder in the pool as it falls--
or that episodic murmur amid the churn.