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Poem	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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