surely our river
cannot already be hastening
into the sea of nonbeing?
surely it cannot drag, in the silt
all that is innocent?
not yet, not yet- there is too much borken
that must be mended,
too much hurt we have done to each other
that cannot yet be forgiven.
we have only begun to know the power that is in us if we would join
our solitudes in the communion of struggle.
So much is unfolding that must complete its gesture,
so much is in bud.