legs rivers and age

 with landbound legs a wish
for the easy flow of a river - not 
the clambering up crags to seek 
more favour from the sun
(or long-haired moon) harped for
since those sparks of who am i 
first clicked through consciousness

how the river sidles round 
rocks blocking the painful straight
seems to brush aside
all snags disrupting its ambition
to be sea - certain from its source
downwardness is good - legs don’t have 
that gift (being boned with doubt)

rivers in their waywardness 
become a rattling cage of tigers 
when the storm god snarls
legs are happy then 
to have hard ground to run away on
legs and rivers you could say
should show compassion for each other

as if legs themselves aren’t rivers
when (from hip to toe) the energy 
runs down from impulses
the high brain sources - summer’s joys
or winter’s nobbling aches
make the same ground safe
or fearful - as when the river legs it

legs or rivers - the game’s alike
seasons distort the flow
in age the river’s more appealing
(legs have a way of silting up)
after the high ground’s turmoils
you hope for the sanctity of meadows
a kind of green relief

legs feed on past dreams (now
kick a ball the leg drops off)
rivers are geared to what comes next
even in the sea’s maw 
hope is on their lips (ever) - legs
rest on their elegiac laurels
with the weight off them they flow best

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