I

July 8, 2014

I’ve sat on this bank before in the summer.
Melted sunshine drizzling into diamond-flecked rivulets.

Mosquitoes nipping.

Dragonflies dancing.

Sweat sneaking down my spine.

The water looks the same as it did last year (and the year before that),
Wending its way through a loamy trough cut willy-nilly by a giant’s plow and his dancing horses.

I kneel down at the river’s edge,
The dampness of grass and moss tickling its way through rolled up jeans.
Last year (or was it a year before that or a year before that?),
Two other sets of summer-skinned-and-scarred knees bent on either side of mine,
Pressing into the river’s edge.

We practiced fishing with our hands,
Plunging our palms into the gold rushing by,
Drawing out treasures and whirligigs and smiles.

Now, alone at the water’s edge,
I search for past years’ gems.
Within the sameness that is not at all the same,
I cannot find what I am looking for.

Yet the river runs on.

II

June 13, 2016

You joined me again at the river’s edge.
This time on a stony shoal jutted out from the river’s bank,
Slowing the water’s rush into soothing shallows.

A time both long and short,
A time both sweet and tart,
A time when we realized how very old and young we were growing—
Both at the same time.

We reclined side by side,
The spring sun toasting our faces,
Our toes cooling in the river’s eddies
That whirled round river rocks and pirouetted past pebbles.

We allowed the world to slide on,
While we contemplated whether it was summer enough to wade in—
Or even plunge into the swimming hole around the bend.

It was a smiling time of living in dreams not relegated to night.

The temperature crept summer-ly so slowly,
I did not notice how long I had closed my eyes
Only to open them and find you poised on the far bank—
Ready to dive into rain-swollen rapids rushing past our pebbled peninsula.

As you slid silently into the sun-glinted river’s run,
Down-streaming toward deltas and the deeps beyond,
I scrambled to join you—just as far as the swimming hole—
I stumbled, a stone knifing through my knee’s skin,
Bleeding tears into the flow that
Wended you invisible round the river’s bend.

I had slept too long in the shallows,
We would not drink of the depths together—
This time.
Can we ever this side of Jordan?

And the river runs on.

~~To Be Continued~~


I’ve finally added a new stanza to a poem I began almost two years ago.