On the River We Float

I am upriver without care,

free of town’s weight and structure,

as my untempered soul and bent frame

the cool-summer water gently laps,

this partial shade from the shore’s willow and myrtle

a welcome, freckled cap, signaling celebration—

like finding the sum goods of all the drawn Xs

on all the world’s real treasure maps.

Returned to this once ocean island chain of clearing water—

my spirit swimming, like varied fish in a stream—

staying in motion as day turns to night, my blood memory,

a keeper of history, in my body’s own way.

Deep currents, like knowledge—

a pressing measure of time,

when not here, often wondering

if I have enough energy beyond surviving,

the world is not always kind.

But, hope, like this river, has tied me to you,

in a world where I might see you playing lightly

on the tide-forged river hewn, out with steady

and cherished friends—like me, this summer,

where once again, my soul mends;

so timely and unfaded,

life this year has been so askew.

Why can’t I live this way always?

Over the years, I have often wondered:

Can I be made quite whole, by the run to this goal?

Or, will my good luck run its course—

no room here for big life mistakes (no gold here)

if unprepared—King Midas of gorse?

When I was much younger,

no great and happy believer in fate,

now more west-traveled and older,

fewer right paths before nature’s gate—

today, I finally see clearly—

this place was made for me.