The deepest love is a river.
Steady current, far below
The surface which we touch our tender soles to.
A force to tear through stone,
Dissolving the blemished, lending buoyancy to the weight.
And this flow tames flames,
As a womb,
And sings to us.
This river indeed flows within each of us.
Born with new life. Obscured by living.
Would you look her in the face?
Would you know your own divinity?
Thick of skin, silken of heart.
The harmony of a soul, in tune with the songs of all [who we call] others.
For separation is experiential, never philosophical.
A river song.
Kate Varsava is a Halifax, NS based lover of wit, whimsy, and word-play. Late-nights, mid-morning coffee, quiet meditations, and the elements of nature inspire her sentiments and observations.