SAME RIVER

“You cannot,” said Heraclitus,
“Step into the same river twice.”
“You’re on!” I said and so
We spent the rest of the night
Jumping in and out of rivers;
We both caught colds.
Turns out he was right
Though some of the rivers
Were quite similar the second time.

Heraclitus, though, after a few drinks,
Can never leave well alone.
“If  horses,” he said, “had a god,
He would look like a horse.”
“I’ve got you there!” I answered
“The God of Horses is my fifth cousin.”
(Due to an unwise bargain I have
An uncountable number of cousins;
They're like the pillars at Stonehenge)
“He looks nothing like a horse.”
There was no choice, of course,
But to visit my cousin who lives
Some versts north of the last subway stop
In the Bronx. For my mother’s sake,
Pitr welcomed us warmly
After innumerable cups of tea
He showed us around. Though as a god
He has access to infinities, his apartment
Was small, and crowded with the ghosts
Of horses. Horse angels were constantly
Coming and going and horse prayers
Were piled so high that miracles were needed
To keep them from crashing down.

"Alright then," said Heraclitus, "you try
Coming up with something pithy and memorable
Which wittily illuminates the human condition!"
"How about 'The weed of crime bears bitter fruit?’ "
"Wasn't that The Shadow's motto?"
"It was. You didn't ask for originality.
And didn't Xenophanes say that horse thing?"
Heraclitus shrugged and thought for a moment.
"You know," he said finally, "the weed of crime
Is, properly considered, a vegetable."