high above the river, from the edge of the cliff, one can see the rafters in their inflated crafts, in the blue and red and yellow ovals, bright and iridescent and suspended atop the furious strip of gray as they wend below, lifting,
twisting, careening as their vessels sprout sodden arms that grip scarred paddles, paddles that swing quick and deep into the foam only to then be held still and wide to the water, a thousand rudders to navigate the rocks and avoid the
hard realities that rise in the shallows and are revealed without warning, some only to scream haplessly like funhouse monsters, while the others lie dangerously quiet, unseen under the surface, until at river's tail the rafters
lift their oars in triumph amid the mirror-like calm, life’s vagaries conquered for the moment
I have walked my paved and beaten roads crossed my old and new bridges and jumped my low and high hurdles, unrelentingly... allowing nothing...or no one to rise before me...and tell me : you are wrong, when, i feel it so strong...that i am right! no reason could be saner than what I've been taught no voice, could be more reasonable...or gentler than those voices of my folks...my childhood...my past, nothing, or, no one...can ever destroy...or impede this bursting...yet tempered love within... i let it grow, the right way i know i let it nourish my soul, for, it saves me...from sunrise, to moon glow...