Swimming

Swimming

I wish my Self would shut up—
I should take him now, walking to the river,
and just push him into the current.

Then I’d run along the river, up along
the bank of was or will, kicking both my feet
in the air of freedom,

I will watch for fresh fish jumping, up out of
the stream.  Oh there jumps one now!
Is he winking at me?  Or was he mad?

What if the fish were so mad at my Self,
they decided to throw him back up here,
up on this bank of was or will?

I panted with fear and loathing, I heaved
up the pain, and looked at the ground,
hands were upon my knees!

And up I will tilt my gaze, and look down
at the current, and swimming with that fish,
I will see that my Self is swimming too.

And deep inside the groaning, underneath
the anger, pouring from the stream,
I see that I am swimming too.

I am swimming too.

I am.




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This poem is from "Bottle in the River" 
                     about a Poet's journey down a river, chasing a bottle
                     tossed by the fingertips of "that I am."
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Written within the parameters of the theory of "Multivalence"