Your mantra is tired
dragging itself
weary, dreamless
But it presses on like
my pedaling does
with sore knees
and a broken heart
And it does all of this
because of its truth
For nothing else
have I been more sorry
I drive over every creek
we ever floated on
and mark each log
with your laugh
your dance
your innocent fantasies
the ones I ran my canoe over
the ones I wish I could rebirth
celebrate, hold up in the firelight
with my own river rat praise song
Some views remind me of Taos
where I should have carried you
across the highest bridge
where a pueblo bedroom
turned into a war zone
where my guilt run began
All your love- a dried river bed
I dive head first and I am not afraid
of my inevitable.broken.neck.
There will be again a midnight swim
my weightless hands on your hips
my knee between your knees
I pour my drenched failure into thirsty sand bars
I give this year's drought the currents of my anger
I put my raft on your clear pure faith
And I wait to coast downstream
the way we were born to do
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4 comments:
gosh, christine. if wow still means anything, here is a place to say it. this is truly lovely work, a rainbow of hope and faith, bridging the past as only love can do.
Beautiful. Thank you for this, I'd forgotten about poetry until now. It's like breathing again...
you are such an amazing poet!!
Thank you, all for reading. There is way too much material on the topic of love, having it, losing it, craving it, getting it back again. I wish I wasn't the expert on it. James, I miss you, friend. L, thanks for dropping by in the poetry cyber world.
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