The Eternal Stream


Memories of moments are fleeting things
They work intermittently like minders
To do only what seems necessary
To see only the wave that hides the fish
To not see the wood for the upteenth tree
Until
We are challenged
By the unknown

I once felt this sitting close to the edge
On the apex of the Tiberina
Behind a pillar facing the torrent
While I waved to a boat full of strangers
Wondering how I will ever build my church
Until
Looking below
I saw the clue

Inching around the pillar on the thin ledge
I caressed the stone with my clasping hand
And soon found me on broader ground and turf
Where a boy and girl was making music
Smoking a joint from which a scent drifted
Until
My dragging steps
Moved on ahead

Through the narrowing strait of the isle
The torrent twirled and smashed against the wall
With a certain methodical violence
In a private ritual of primal force
Hidden by the spanning bridge from above
Until
It re-emerged,
Flowing calmly

Inside the church on the Tiberina
There is great art of the brilliant hues
Tracing the shape of the Virgin Mary
Ascending to be near her rightful place
Conjoining the Trinity by belief
Until
She would return 
To bless the sick

In the small rooms of the Tiberina
There the white beds made of metallic tubes
Carry the imprint of every suffering
And the echo of every prayer of hope
Made in solitude begging for relief
Until
Tears turn to blood
And fear subsides

Travertine gleams in the moonlit path
For a man in a reverie of thoughts
Glad to be alive with all the many doubts
Unbound from dull ordinary habits
But terrified of the uncertainty
Until
He remembers
His place in life

There, near where I once sat, for an instant,
The eternal stream diverges in two,
Before cascading, again in unison.

Roma, 10 November 2006