I sat on the rock just down from the bridge,
Its steel looming there, a confirmation
That, though I had crested the hill, the ridge,
I could not escape civilization.
It is not that I had turned my back
On humanity, but that I had put
Before me what I had sought to unpack,
Why I had come to the river barefoot:
To think, yet to slip into unthought,
To listen to and watch the river flow,
And to regard fully what I had brought:
Feeling ungrateful and a little low.
And as I climbed again back to the road,
I found my shameful thoughts dimmed and slowed.
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