Rivers were once named 
not for their waters, 
but for their muddy banks.  		                                                              (What held them up.)

Here, Old Man River 
still lulls us away 
from what’s contained                                                                       (Water, the memory of floods.)

Under the swift, smooth 
surface, we perceive
a definite course— 		                                                                    (Forgetting the unseen.) 

so when we awake,
when we arrive,		                                                             (at destination, or greatness)

Like Phaeton, we can’t 
fight the current of 
our own desire. 		                                                     (Water pulls harder than the sun.)