Plunge

We have moved from the place

of hopeful milling about,

of waiting liquid at the lip

of some great movement

(the general goodwill of our presence

bright enough to make us feel at one)

Almost unthinking, we have plunged

along the run life set for us —

maybe we thought it was a choice,

perhaps we only noticed

by the coursing of our fluids,

by the pounding force

of that which bore us,

that, indeed, we’ve moved along

And that the quiet pool

in which we hoped and waited

(and chafed at our incompetence

to stir it up)

will not be seeing us again

for a long time

Who knows where all the others are

and where their rapids bear them

and if we’ll meet again,

changed and unchanged

at the waiting sea?

©Wendy Mulhern

January 1, 2018