there are many rivers in the mountains where I grew up
in deep gorges they flow
they rarely catch a glimpse of sky
there are no expansive sails hoisted high over their surfaces
nor huge flocks of river gulls drawn on by boat-songs
it’s only when you’ve climbed endless ridges and hills
that you hear this river sound
it’s only on rafts made of great tree-trunks lashed together
that you dare ride upon these waves
some areas will stay forever unknown to humankind
the freedom of those places belongs to the eagles alone
in the rainy season the waters turn brutal
gale winds on the high plateau push boulders down into valleys
mud dyes the rivers red
as if the mountains were actually bleeding
only when it’s calm
do you see the plateau’s bulging veins
those people who live on either side of these rivers
may never come to know of one another’s existence
but wherever you go in the place I grew up in
you will here people talking about these rivers
as if discussing their gods

1983