And Yet I Cross
I arrive at the churning river,
with one option.
I stare at the jagged rocks below.
White water agitates across the gorge.
And yet I cross.
Forward or to retreat I must.
Uncertain I am
of the future, distant bank,
my knowledge scant of its terrain.
And yet I cross.
A wooden span held with rusted iron
bearing the scars
of countless crossings, creaks
and voices the sighs of protest.
And yet I cross.
The opposing shore may offer paradise,
bright acres of rich inheritance.
Or perhaps consists of a land without shade,
possibly a territory desolate and destitute.
And yet I cross.
In unfamiliar maps I find myself.
lost in the forward progress,
unwilling to reverse my course,
standing at a rushing boundary.
And yet I cross.
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