A certain yearning for those ancient rivers
eats into the morning without results;
the nearest one’s two thousand kilometres,
and the Hooghly’s distance now measured in worlds
the Benue and the Nile both out of bounds
just indifferent seagreen gulf's around.
There’s far too much inspirational guff
about the threequarterness of oceans,
about how the rivers end up being cupped
by loving seas. And the televisions
get thinner and bigger, open wider jaws;yet no rivers come by. Not one trickle flows.