Summer Ink River

inspired by Rivers by Lisa Robertson

Words move faster than I would them to sometimes.

Sometimes I want to stop, rest and go again.

Words need time to breathe and so do I since I can't say everything in one breath- even two.

Rivers are long but words are longer.

Makes me think of longer times, because I haven't spent much time near rivers,

really only with Pocahontas and John.

I guess summer could be like a river too.

Except I'm not quite sure how they end the same; one at an estuary, ultimately the sea

the other at the sound of bells and pencils (indifferent teachers, crumbling infrastructure, etc.)

I wonder what summer will mean when I'm older

how will it end and begin?

Or maybe it will never end or being, like a river.

Like time (although I do believe time as we know it will end one day).

I wish it would stop for a moment so I could ask why it moves so fast. 

Why do words move so fast.

Like waster rushing out of my ventricles, 

through my fingers and scrambled

slipping onto a page.

Ink is like a river too.

Summer and ink go hand in hand.

Writing in my journal in the summer is when I find rivers run slow.