by Tom Johnson-Medland

I come to where the dark
brown dirt and smoothed
pebbles reach toward the
ever changing water.  Rolling
and lapping again and again
the moisture darkens the land;
earth and stone feed the river.

Hints of an endless familiarity
are tendered; in both directions.

That familiarity is mine, too.
Each time I approach this
solitary place I give pieces
of my me to that rolling and
lapping.  Being here is being
me and I am somehow that –
in the contented stance I now
hold myself I realize I am home.

When I return, I am more this
place and it me.  And more so
the next time.  A cavalcade of
synergetic mitosis. I become
the thing that is becoming me.

Axon becomes dendrite and is
myelinated again and again and
yet still rolling and lapping again.