early birds
all of your weight
sinks down.
the boat, the river, the washing tides, the dried leaves.
there is no sound
but a swoosh.
rippling, breaking, something reacting to your being.
this is the hardest thing
we have had to do yet,
for the living.
it and you and the boat are real.
the swooshing gets loud sometimes.
like drowning.
and even if you perceive me
as laughter,
it is not laughter
in my heart perceived.
it is a dagger and i am stuck.
it hurts to leave it in.
it hurts to pull it out.
i don't have the answers
of
how it got there, so inside.
of
how it will ever be gone
without
a purple scar.
sinks down.
the boat, the river, the washing tides, the dried leaves.
there is no sound
but a swoosh.
rippling, breaking, something reacting to your being.
this is the hardest thing
we have had to do yet,
for the living.
it and you and the boat are real.
the swooshing gets loud sometimes.
like drowning.
and even if you perceive me
as laughter,
it is not laughter
in my heart perceived.
it is a dagger and i am stuck.
it hurts to leave it in.
it hurts to pull it out.
i don't have the answers
of
how it got there, so inside.
of
how it will ever be gone
without
a purple scar.