RIVERS R

“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.

It turned 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

Many versts north beyond the subway stop

At Zurega Buray. 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."