There are powerful currents
In this stream, as thoughts waken
The still tired slumber, and become lost
In a penumbra between wishes and acceptance.
Reality is a fatal compromise.
What of the night
train, the tides marked in grains
That makes the bed of the sea inside me.
A glyphic fantasy of movements
Trails of the nails dragged to hold
The welled spells of time (--) they burst
Like tears from the mythic, tears
That made the ancient deep rivers.
To now, I know
The rivers of a woman’s eyes;
Deep as memory and beyond.
They are boundless as endless night
Deep as the need of two
To dissolve distance unto… one.
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