Pocked and marked, Torn and hewn, As the surface, Of the moon

A symbol of my desire and vision sometimes perch atop of mountains spire

Where dreams are forged in stone, and dragons might have flown. Home to knights and tales of old, standing proud, majestic and bold.

I follow the line of maximum depth within a moving channel. Unmarked, continuous, defined only by gradient and flow. Political borders defer to me, though I remain entirely water. Trace the river’s lowest vector, and you arrive.

I have a trunk but I can move. I can flap parts of my body but cannot fly. I can be from Africa or Asia.