Look the van is on the fringe of the river where waters and bridge and sand meet ,taking its ceremonial annual bath probably. Its driver is sleeping on steering wheel. We wonder what the van is thinking in its bath as we trudge up to it in sandy footsteps.
A man is passing by, our own man, to touch the waters in reverence, for his purification. He comes from hills holding a stomach In good care under our city doctor’s scalpel .
It seems the van is not actually thinking in its bath but only synchronizing its sleep with driver’s. This our man is walking up with his glass eye blinking to catch beauty in sleeping van against a sleeping river under its bridge.
The river is moody for the rainy season but sleeps on its restraint when its ego swells less ,with no rain in the far off mountains.
The morning is just a dream 