Ithaca, also, was built on the water

river rocks

I am dreaming again of riverafternoons
and your sunlit irides, floodlevel love
on time we borrowed until we stole.
Funny how the past you think of is never
the past that was; the present tenuous as rain
streamlit down the windows of my old place
by the river, all plateglass & whiskey;
my future self’s heart pinched between thumb
and dirt-traced forefinger, whirlpooled in muddy waters,
slipping over rocks. If I knew her now I would say
never mind the scars. There is peace even in the drowning;
the trains will sound their slow mourners’
wail over curves of forever, tonight’s tornado
warning only a siren on the horizon.

11 thoughts on “Ithaca, also, was built on the water

  1. To write like this must be a little taste of Heaven…the imagery carries me along on a flood tide of bodily sensations…until I am drowned in a whirlpool of delights. Thank you for sharing your matchless gift and talent.

    Ron

  2. Ah, how must easier life would be if we could keep this state of mind – loved: “time we borrowed until we stole” and “Funny how the past you think of is never the past that was” Always a delight to read your writing, golden-rich poignancy to slather over my day like a healing balm.

    • Oooh… I like the bit about “slathering over the day” very much… may have to steal that phrase… 😉 Always a pleasure to hear from you, Lady!

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