They come to rise up
Then to speed down
To glide on silken slopes
The graceful arc of edges
All I need is
A canoe
A paddle
And a clear, calm mountain lake
With every stroke
I feel my tensions release
My thoughts slide down my arms
Into the paddle
They lap lightly
On the shores of consciousness
I come for my friends
For the best band in the town
For the wood and the charm
The best Après around
Continued from Enveloped.
Impatiently.
A mother knows these things.
And daughters always think they know better,
When they hardly know themselves.
I love the man.
She never understood that.
He is derisive,
Angers easily.
Once under an overturned rowboat
On chill Swedish tundra
Fending off the mosquitoes
For just one more word
Before midnight’s nightfall
And a welcome sleep
But what this writer loves
Is a table, a chair and a view
Overlooking the sea, perhaps
Or a river, and its teeming scene
She came into my life
Throwing a lifeline
In a turbulent time
She will never know
Nor can I explain
To her or anyone
The many ways
Her words touched me
Her songs sang to my spirit
For him
Like a rising tide
They come
In ripples
“I’ll have to go get some sealant,” her husband had told her.
“But that will ruin the paint,” she replied, with an emotion that surprised her. “I don’t have any more.”
“You have to fix it before it gets out of hand.”
“But it’s such a small crack!”
He paused.
Pix to Words 