I inscribed my heart on fallen petals,
Decaying flowers, as spring heats into summer.
Written with soft rotting dreams
Dipped in the memories of my muddy song.
Kisses are dropped silently into the flowing
Tannic waters, drifting, floating away
To the salty ocean or sinking down
As flickers of light into the deeper waters.
Food for darting fish near the surface,
A raft for small water beings, bits of love
Sinking down, food for the bottom feeders,
Cat fish, worms, larvae, poets, my own
Self hungry, swimming below in darkness,
I capture lost flickers, lost light.
My words, my dreams, my loves settling
In the sediments, muddy ink my new song,
Or drifting away forever into the
Beauty thoughts in petals
Floating or sinking, my messages
Sent to a fisherman I know to
Be downstream, not a big message, only
That I am here. My Dear Love see
I am sending my broken heart in tiny
Words and color in the current. A flash
Catches the eye of a passing raptor, but is
Rejected as unpalatable, the bits
Of me float on, disturbing the
The surface for my lover, the fishermen
Downstream. Softly cursing as rubbish,
As bothersome tree trash, forest litter,
He pushes away my broken lost
Pieces of color and song, my wind chaff.
The fisherman stirs these reminders
Away, though the stirring neither
Hurries the river nor smoothest
The surface. The fisherman did not
Know that his quarry followed the
Words flickering just beneath
The surface, lovely lures without hooks.
The fish more curious than fisherman.
Themselves the interpreters of my dreams,
Fallen petals, my self floating in
His irritation disturbs the fish
Away and scrambles the messages
Arranged by the drifting currents.
No fish, no color, no symbolic words,
No petals, the fisherman swats
At swarming mosquitoes, gnats,
Knocks a horsefly into the water,
And curses again, but softly,
Wishing the fly to have been on a hook
When ripples and shadow take the bait,
Also swallowing a few of the
Unrecognized symbols, but no hooks.
Meaning and food to be digested together,
Flower petals scattering as
Chaff on the surface.
The fisherman reels in his line.
He will fish on another day,
When he doesn’t feel
So disturbed. Perhaps
There will be less debris on
The water’s surface.
Bear … 04.25.2014