Rescue

If insanity could be bottled and sold

from kiosks, like colas and beer,

you would have some to sell, my friend.

Take my hand, now, stop stamping so.

The river down there is all

cold strength, all pitiless virtue,

like any natural thing. It doesn't want you.

All that's occurred is god

got drunk -- god, in his cups,

conceived this cold fusion of sun and tears,

this absurdly improbable sequential symmetry

that designed us, you and I, flinging

us, together, here, today, you

trembling so wildly. Take my hand, now,

stop staring so. Leave the river be.

Donny Davis, June 2007