At their confluence, the waters roiled
and rebelled at having to shed their
former selves, so placid and alone.
The tumultuous tryst yielded only
to grassy banks that guided and
contained the thrashing, which
swept along all creatures scaly
and slimy, without mercy — a vengeance
exacted for the concession.
Whether from distance or habit,
the frenzy at last calmed, and
osprey could once again slice
through the chastened depths with ease.
"Is this a metaphor?" you asked,
from river's edge. "Ha!" I laughed,
jealous of the osprey.