A Coin in the Liffey

I once threw a coin in the River Liffey.
Which is not such a mighty river, not wide, nor deep,
Nor beautiful, nor famous.
But at that moment, it was the only river at hand,
And it was an old river, in an old city,
A city that had known many broken hearts and broken dreams
And those whose fissures were mended after long struggles.

So as we stood together over the bridge on O'Connell Street,
The icy dagger of the Spire just down the road,
With the traffic rushing by behind us,
On a mild June afternoon with a bright Irish sun
Burning the sky above our heads,
I leaned over the railing of the bridge,
And tossed the coin over the side and
Watched it as it wavered a bit in the brisk wind
Then disappeared beneath the murky water.

As the little piece of metal left my palm, I let my mind speak.
I wished that the waters of the old-world river,
That had seen so many travelers arrive and depart over the centuries,
From the missionaries to the Vikings to the Plantagenets to the starving who
Left their green, windy homeland for the chance to thrive,
Would carry my coin and my wish down to the shores near Dublin,
Down into the waters of the sea,
Around the coast of the island,
Out to the open ocean beyond,
All the way to the new world, where
It might be welcomed in a warm, inviting harbor there,
And travel over hill, valley, sidewalk, train track, skyscraper, electric fence,
And anything else that might stand in its way,
To reach an open heart,
Open arms and open mind and open eyes.

I wished for this wish to encircle the world and bring it to me.
I would walk across a thousand bridges over a thousand rivers
To wait for it to come to me.