Rivers of Rembrance

The language of flowers,
worlds within worlds,
unfathomably deep,
reaching without end.
True clarity takes time.
Every answer is a tentative answer.
And so I bear the enigmatic smile…
my Mona Lisa smile.

Language mystifies me,
so it is no wonder my words
leave you bemused
as my aloneness swells.
This not a wholesome thing.
The remedy eludes me.

I give and I withhold.
Endings and beginnings are hardest,
the getting in and the getting out,
so I scavange the rivers for scrap
with which to build a scaffold,
though phobic to the abyss
that awaits my adventure.
The ending is of no concern.
There are fish to fry.

Standing at river’s edge,
I hear the cry of the loon.
I am at war with myself.
This is normal.
How these words sound on a page…
like gravel in the throat.
This is the ending I didn’t see.