by Dan Sturn
Not blissful, the sea returns the Poet to the beginning, where he again chooses the river.
|All Things Cycle
When you asked if I liked your laugh,
I cried, and then wrote a poem.
You came to me in the past
and helped me leave was and will alone.
As if I lived on a raft,
left in the sea to roam,
and then I heard your sweet laugh.
to take me home.
Home, to the rise and fall
of the breath, like skating
on the blade of this moment.
Wondering who you are, and who I am.
Wondering . . . thinking and wondering . . .
And there, at home, I saw the river,
once again, the holy sweet river.
Beckoning to me, the river.
Beckons me in, the water
in the river.
And the bottle, spinning in air,
I could have quit, ended it all, right there.
But instead, I heard your laughter,
and once again, I jumped in after.