You're on to me.
This river comes from death.
I am not good at hiding things—
I am full of water.
The most I can do
Is to stay in my body.
It's so much, sometimes,
You know I ask the same of you.
My mind, the great bridge,
flapping fishes in my hands.
They love me,
but I can't control them.
Put them, put them
back
in the black
water.
I don't want anything more
than to gentle myself.
I'll not rage the last wave—
I'll breathe this through.
Do what you do.
Do what you do.
You're in the rushes now.
The pull is too strong.
Slowly, nature takes us all
Back to the salty ocean.
This is a poem about my father.
