about the Potomac

Potomac, frozen 

On my run to the Potomac

my mind is charging -- 

everything I haven't done,
wanted to become and am not,
spreadsheets empty, clothes not clean.
Everything catches up with me.
But I arrive and the Nation's River
is frozen.  It is still as I am not.
It is silent and icy.
At the bridge to Roosevelt Island
a circle of senior citizens wait
in warm socks and listen
to a guide. They cross the gate and I
know their lives cannot be un-lived,
even one second that was given
un-gived.  The river has cracks
like age lines, where it has tried
to resist.  I stare at them and wish
for the strength of stillness.
For the strength just to live
where I am instead of a million miles away.
It takes courage, but for a moment or two
I am cold breath,
a silent hum,
a simple prayer,
I am only what I am today.