I spill too much water from my oar
as I cut this curving river
in ragged halves, my backswerving boat
overcorrects
with every stroke
I pull powerfully, losing half my force
to the splash, making eddies and whorls,
using all the wrong words
for everything.
I could use you now,
in the back of my boat,
yelling at me, and
so encouraging.
No comments:
Post a Comment