The river flows now with a certain grace, Its voice calm and inviting — Holding the stories of all that’s passed. I bent now into unhurried waters, Watching reflections murmur soft loudly, Trees dipped low and hushed their boughs, While I stood rooted, where whispers became gold. The world shimmered, alive beneath, Carrying echoes, scents of decay— In their warmth, I found life’s treasures, Floating downstream, ephemeral and true. Here, amid the tumult and the tide, The essence of the river unfolded.

• Anne Sexton