Rapids (Poetry)

Everything flows faster now —
the days that torrent into years
Summer’s calm lagoon is dry
and Winter’s whirlpool flood of tears
sucks at warmth
drags at the depths
where memory is grey and cold —
silted deep in cracks of rock
and all the while the watery world
hurls itself and tugs along
each battered raft to which we cling
and in our ears the thunder rings
the roar of life — the surge — the swell —
the strange and unexpected lull
before the final lift and rush
that sets the dazed survivor free
to test the calm and float awhile
upon a glassy silent sea.