Poetry
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Creative Flow

Throw a rock in the river.
Enjoy the miniature tsunami you created,
floating away and vanishing.

Dare to put one foot in the river.
Sink it in the very old sand, resting,
cooling your blood flowing
to your heart and your optic nerve
observing the show in the water.

H2O molecules bounce against your skin cells.
They swirl like Turkish dancers around you until
they rejoin in a feverish whirlpool
to continue their voyage downstream.
Your dancers will return.
They will fly up in the sky and pass you by,
then rain, somewhere upstream.

They will return
for your encore, or,
rich of your experiment,
for your new show
as you let a second foot sink,
then a finger, ten of them and two hands,
now twisting and waltzing.

The river flows, passing you by, unperturbed.

Cool, you think. You are refreshed.
A creative beaver blocks the river downstream,
You are now dancing in a lake,
making your own whirlpools
with the molecules that stayed in the moment.

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