It is a wonder, the Why of the Y,
the confluence of two disparate courses to one.
It happens in odd congruity sometimes,
where the pure and the muddy meet
in what should be ugly, calamitous clash.
But there comes a moment where the physics,
the gravity of nature, human and otherwise,
have a way of sifting the sin from the soiled
and sullying the clear in silty suspension,
perhaps a chemical suspension, of disbelief.
Birds, pulled from the sky at the magic of it all,
carve their own soft Y-shapes tracks,
curlicue memories, in the mud there beside
the languorous eddy captured at the delta.
Perhaps it is their poetry
Here is my very quick effort for my friend Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday prompt, the photo you see here of the Junction of Rhone and Arve rivers in Geneva, Switzerland.