How We Lost It
We used to cross rivers together.
He'd go on ahead and wait.
I would follow;
my feet slipping on the smooth rock
in the rushing cold.
Then once, I looked down at my feet
and saw myself in the bent light,
where I wasn't,
but where I could be,
and something about the is
became the possible,
and I lost my footing
and found a new one
elsewhere.
He is still waiting,
some days,
but I can't get to that
grassy bank
any longer.
More OSI: Here
5 comments:
Dear, just bent light?
The imagery in this one is fascinating.
The refraction of the light in water makes your feet seem to be somewhere they aren't. Seemed like a decent metaphor for the situation.
Travis: Thank you
I liked it. (:
love your poetry, the imagery is charming here, smiles.
check us out, join poets rally today.
:)
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