The afternoon nap is when horses run
and I push out into the long, flat river,
only barely paddling a boat.
A current finds me and tells me to let go of my thinking.
The wild animals near shore slip from their coherence.
The snaggy tree limbs grab and then let go.
Butterflies begin to speak.
Sometimes it is in German,
the language opponent I wrestled with in high school.
Willow hanging upside down
in gentle reflection smooths the ripples in the shallows.
Then I become so busy at doing something I do not
A machine that makes nothing, has no noise, no defined purpose,
starts up, and runs faster and smoother,
until I awake and find my toes pointed toward the sun.
The river drops me off in a fresh land
and I am not hungry,
but she calls me and tells me it is time for dinner, honey.
More fuel for another river.