Even in the ice of winter
as we walk across the river
to the city, to the life
we feel the warmth of the water
as it flows around and beneath
flows intuitively without rhythm
Even in the steam of summer
as we walk upon the island
from the city to the life
we feel the cool rain
as it drips from the clouds
drips rhythmically in a torrent
And as the water roars into the
darkness of the night and
the night slips softly into the
wetness of the morning
nothing has been cleansed
unless we see that it is clean
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