At the River, After Everything

The river doesn't remember last week.

It doesn't hold the argument

or the silence after.

It just runs—

over the same stones,

around the same bend,

because that's what rivers do

and have always done

and will keep doing long after

we've sorted out whatever this is.

I sat here an hour.

The river had no advice.

It ran. I watched.

Somewhere in that exchange

I became slightly less afraid.