Riverbank being at the edge of immersive be/coming

In the deepest rivulets of the summer-quietened streams, I linger. In the moist edge-rocks, pebbling the eddies of water quenching riverbank, I linger. I arise with a hunger for this sweet and tender water-touching-land wholeness, of one thing making another, becoming another, of water and stone making mud and leaf, of the deep shade below tangy scents and stream bush sweetnesses. Of water rolling over earth, aeons, becoming air and riverbed. Of cooling earth rolling around the sun, more aeons, whirling clouds and ocean.