One day the river will stop flowing.
I will be there to witness it.
I will stand on the bank of the river,
knee deep in the crabgrass, and watch the water
swirl slowly down, down, down, to the last
bit of water, until there is nothing,
nothing left anywhere.
One day, I will see the river, and it will
not be a river any longer.
The fish will be all gone, eaten or starved;
their skeletons littering the ground like
and the bottom of the river will be a dried
Pigs will sleep in it. Beavers will move
in it, up, down, or across, and they will
sit and stare, their tongues hanging out
of their slacked mouths.
One day the river will stop flowing-
One day I will no longer be here,
one day my memories will fade,
and I will sit and think of things that are