journey song #8:
shallows
By the water, my mouth is full
of salt and the smell of seaweed.
Were I entirely here, I'd clutch
the sand like a solid thing, I'd
follow the stream of papers and
poems back to the source of the pain.
But the boat is pointed not up
any river but away across the water
and from here I may take up oars
to the island where Charon sleeps
restlessly, sucking on copper and
calling ravens to himself in dreams.
it is on this beach that I sing out
all of those old songs, let them free
one last time forever. I have no need
for the boatman, I am finally
my own guide.
I am armed with maps of these unseen shallows;
love is a frayed dream of the coast.
I'll arrive shivering, ready to say
to my love, forgive me,
I have been dreaming too close
to the sea.
1/19/98