Along the way
Passed the blessed station
Clouded river reflecting the course of the sky in its due.
Past due,
The debt never to be paid
As water courses on about its freedom
And the constraints of gravity and land.

The physicality she says,
Feet firmly planted in the exercises of the mud.
A long search of your personal past
As toes have known,
Touched, carried you.
The clear sound of virgin water
Falling like trees in a clear cut.
The bulk of our meaning is in the meat,
The momentum,
The assonance and dissonance of matter.

It matters because the hand of the eye,
The I of the self of sky is crying that bucket you dip.
It picks its way through rocks and sandy path.
It finds our ruts,
Deep as English, plain as day.

To weep before a crevasse,
Or to take readings,
Beliefs, symptomatology, protected by nothing,
In a leotard with no net.
At stake is temporary lodging,
Presumptuous, premature totals,
Young couple just starting out.

Weigh your words like one who might drop from a plane with a chute,
With a claim that buoyancy is cleft,
Hanging is numen, plethora is phenomenal,
Glassy smooth,
Saying nothing with the eyes but have me and make me
Like you and them and she who made all others speak.
Who tallied the tributes, woven like shells in their hair.

To touch the skin of our shoulders is to find
Blunted wing buds and beauty touched
Like movement by the lips.
By the passage of time,
By and by we reconvene.
Tabled negotiations finally bearing fruit.

His belly, her mind,
Ship board at night
Below the stars, on the waves, traveling,
Just as first ones said
That heroes shall be.