Two Rivers

There is a place
in my body
where the rivers meet,
where all is wild
and alive.

You cannot see it.

Words stream down
in search of meaning
that comes from
a deeper place
in the mountain of me.

Somewhere beneath my ribs
under the solar plexus
they come together,
these two rivers,
in a white rush
of foam and wave,
a violent crashing
that is not so different
from love, really,

a confluence
from which emerges
the poem
that is my life.