In Motion in December

I sat alone on a snowy, high bank of the river

one cold winter night beneath a panoply of stars,

pondering if I could make happen what seemed impossible,

take a solitary pick of manifold stones, transplant it

from here to there, and thereby divert how the river flowed; could make it swerve from this way to that way,

could shift it sideways even a tiny bit.

Gazing down at the flowing, ice-crusted water,

dark and deep, gleaming ripples by starscape,

I mused that it would have to matter more

than letting it run as it was, that even a handspan over

would be a better thing; might save someone a fall;

help a frog or fish, let grow a flower, detect lost treasure

in the sudden mud that would sparkle and be found,

like friendship, like a froth of joy, like dreams manifested—

Believe it and let go from my closed fist

a stone specially chosen for this earth-changing

so that it rolled down to the river, splashed and settled

fast at home amongst those many others;

Ah! I saw clearly then under that scintillant sky,

the truth was that it requires not just a single stone—

though that is how it always must begin—

but myriad, with many hopes and many hearts,

and the river will surely move.