Does the River cry

Does the River Cry?

Does the river cry when it enters the sea?

Does the ocean wrap her arms around it

like a mother receiving a returning child?

Does the air going in

recognize the air coming out—

brothers

who have been in the same body?

Does a new thought dance with the old,

replacing it,

or merging—

making one thought from two?

As our bodies grow,

do old cells resent the new?

Do the new push them aside,

or do they dance—

celebrating the passing of one

to make space for the next,

knowing the stance of life will continue?

Does an old belief become heresy

when a new belief arrives?

Or does it embrace the new—

the legitimate offspring

of a long and holy line?

Does the river cry

when it enters the sea?

Or does the ocean

embrace it

like a mother

receiving her returning child?