Shared with dVerse MTB quatern and utilising the phrase ‘what happens when the river stops‘ taken from Günter Grass’s ‘What I write about’.

What happens when the river stops
flowing towards its final form,
to meet dissolution, consumed
in a roiling ghost of gestalt?

Gathering stagnation – is that
what happens when the river stops?
Dammed many times along the way,
it aches to carve a deeper chart;

Breath seeping into the soft soils,
probing for any solve to see
what happens. When the river stops,
frozen skin, a trick of the light,

conceals the hand of destiny
on swirling tides of history.
I find I do not want to know
what happens when the river stops.