The Stream*

The Stream

The stream
cut a black path
through the white and snow banked hills;

Booted and muffled
I stared
Through the glare

Chasing the stream
with my eyes

As it wound around
the hills
it was eating by degrees.

While prophets and poets
talked of Baptism

While Kings and Cardinals
dreamed of coronations,

I listened to the rushing of the stream
and wondered.