Maundy Thursday

Untitled (Two Rivers) by Gabriele Woolever

Maundy Thursday, two things given: peace; a mandate to love.
In the canyon sounds the 700 year old echo: like a river.

If peace is like a river, what are rivers like?
How do their stone beds describe them? How do their surfaces hum their childhoods? How do they cleave, and yet cleave?
Perhaps a river is also a mandate, or like one. The shifting body, the inexorable flow.
Join in. Resist enough to remain head up. Its muscles become your own. Perish in the June river.
Straddle the November. Return in a few millennia. The young stones luxurious, changed.