My Stream and Your Stream

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I will not bother you by telling
You who I am through cryptic
Notions barely interpretable.
That has been done before.
It is as tiresome as riding a bike
Uphill for miles.
I will give you something cryptic,
But not about myself-
Yet, entirely about myself.
I will tell you of a stream flowing
Down the mountain from melting snow
Left over from winter.
It moves now, but it’s time is short,
Just as time is short.
It picks up sediments along the way,
But is forced to abandon them
At the bottom, a complete journey.
I’m still picking up nuggets,
Some that I can use and share,
Some handed down from the ancients,
But translated to different things
Over centuries.
I’ll keep the old before the new.
Should the new have anything to value
I suppose I’ll keep them too
And I’ll share them-
What good is it to imprison them?
I’m no one special,
No higher or lower than any other.
I can’t claim the mountaintop
When it belongs to everyone
Just as I can’t claim the valley.
I can’t claim the stream,
But I can claim my stream.
If I can impart any wisdom at all,
It would be to claim your stream
And don’t flow too quickly.