The river is full of wet surprises. Reaching in a hand, you pull back A hand, wet with the glistening wish To be all wet yet still be hand. Look at your wet hand, fingers dripping Blazingly glazed as if never dry, As if never needing to kneel again In the plunging wet, the enveloping mist. Shake hands with the evasive river, full. You are you. You are the river. Lean over yourself wetly, without Expectation, again and again.