Who wouldn’t give up being a drop
to be a river? It’s not as if your essence changes –
it’s just that the illusion of isolation
is swept away, in the thunder of the power

It’s not as if the forces you run with,
the gravity, evaporation,
are different, though in the multitude
of your collective run,
you may feel more of what they do

And nothing stops you
from leaping up anyway, being
a sparkling drop, dissipating into mist,
drifting far into the forest
to commune with trees

Just that you always feel
the pull home, and the desire to mingle,
and your belonging
in all the secret passageways,
above ground and under –
everywhere the river calls its own.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 20, 2022