But the River

I find my reflection in the water below
but the river is blind to my face.
It makes no attempt to study my skin
or the wrinkles that whisper my age.

I cast my legs in the water below
but the river does not sense my filth.
It makes no attempt to push me away
but gently washes the dirt from my feet.

I sing out my stories to the water below
but the river is quiet and calm.
It makes no attempt to silence my words
or hush me whenever I speak.

I drink from my palms of the water below
but the river does not keep a charge.
It makes no attempt to equal my debt
but flows freely and quenches my thirst.

I am home on the waves of the water below
but the river has no expectations.
It makes to attempt to structure my dreams
or cage me against my wishes.