A Pure River
Having escaped westward-
following the traditional headwinds-
finally I am resting,
eyes closed, upon the horizon,
exhausted from seeing
forever forward
resurrection
and the dream of resurrection.
Below me coils
mountain water clear
and silent
which I know
must one day diffuse
with a world disordered –
salt and ship.
But for now
clarity
as in transparency.
Silence
as in a perfect pitch.
May my hands forever be
a pure river
I do not recognize.
-published by The Chaffey Review and in my chapbook, A Pure River
No comments:
Post a Comment