Mad Rivers

(14th of February, 2014)

Mad rivers stand
Between my cheek
And your heart
Boundless,
Restless
They churn
Stirred horses
No strap
Scrap
The landscape
The very concepts
Of "under" and "above"
A whole world
Reduced to a bucket
What can contain
Such onslaught
And for how long
It will be spring,
It will be spring
I say tightening my grip on the wheel,
Praying
For some solid ground
Some forward motion
To propel me
To where my deepest comfort lies
That warm scent
That lingers on your nape.
Outside our door
Timid shoots
The fingertips of a miniature hand
Feel their way
To the light
It will be spring.