that river flowing from my door
breaks the hold of gravity
crossing the mountains to your door
then pausing in still shallows at her door, now,
maybe it’s because she is
so like you were then
and not so,
but neither of you knew me then
and don’t, really, even now,
maybe it’s because you stand
on the brink of aloneness
and I remember
that first turning point
and this one, now,
maybe it’s because of
none of those and all of those
moments when dark clouds
cover the sun and I wish
you would turn to me again, now,
but how can I tell you
what isn’t
or wasn’t
but maybe it is
and the river
makes its way from my door
defying gravity, always
- pb july 2013 -