Rivers of people

The rivers of people are all of colored drops;
at a distance they merge
into a changeless, constant stream.

It is never the same form,
but always the same shape;
Heraclitus would recognize it.

They flow, they catch
on sandbars of momentary interest.
Among the statues and churches –
the deeps and shallows –
the course of flow is changed,
flinging up waves onto steps, doors, patios.

There are bargemen in steel coaches
canoers on their bikes
even traffic cops to direct the flow.

Funny that winter
does not freeze them solid.
So many separate drops;
it makes one dream of waterfalls…