you are my forbidden fruit
so sweet until the notes of bitter bubble up
so perfect for me until your other side shows up
duality, inability
to see beyond your own body, beyond your own needs
what am I to you?
what am I if I do or don't?
you tried to tie me down, tried to quiet my own
voice, displeased with my need for reciprocity
to engulfed in your hypocrisy
I almost lost me, in your rapids, distractions
too many factors, actors, and games
too much struggle, rebuttals, and vain
so much vanity you drove me insane
and I have never driven a day in my life

On this tabletop we sit, soaking bodies weighted down.

Overturning back and forth, arm in arm, alone in town.

Rushing water pouring in and spinning round, pounding down.

Inside of this house and out. Turmoil rises up, and gathers all around.

Listen to the hallways hum, and hear the words escape my mouth.

Like a song you sing aloud, speaking of a hiding place where you belong.

Echoing, my old guitar is crying out.

Asking if within the flood we ever will at last be found?

A
splash
overtakes
the stern and
rocks grind the
gunwales. Quick to
maneuver, draw draw
draw, easing the boat into
calmer waters; pause. A deep
breath to regain  focus  and  scout
the stream ahead. White water, boiling
foaming writhing as it is forced reluctantly
along. Trout shimmer under the  warm  sun
cutting  effortlessly  through the  brisk  water.
Disrupted and scattering they  flee as a  stroke
breaks the surface, bubbles  rise  off the paddle
ascending like the decent  of  snowflakes  falling
falling falling to the surface above. On this ground
blanketed by freshly  fallen snow, water bugs  dart
back and  forth more quickly than the eye can  see,
disturbing  only a  slight  dimple  below. These  too
flee as the water  is  broken, cut in half, by  the keel
of a slender hull sliding seductively over the surface.
The  pace hastens. Unified, the  paddler and  boat
react  and flow as one. Tipping forward over the
brink, the canoe shoots forward over thrashing
snow. Quick right. Dodging a fallen weathered
tree. Quick left. Swooping past  a  rocky  isle.
Whitecaps breaking and eddies twisting, a
sirens  song,  drawing  the  boat  closer.
Violent spray distracts from the call of
the sirens and the canoe is buffeted
from side to side rocking perilously.
Waves reach up in a welcoming
embrace as the boat quivers.
Regaining balance it soars
onward,  leaving  the
anguished water
with only a
fading
wake.
V

-AM