I remember what it was like
next to the placid river,
when I was blinded perhaps to
the wrinkles made of wind
across its time-buffed surface.
It shone open and inviting,
like I could walk across it,
or lie upon it and not catch its coolness,
not hear the heartbeat and secrets
I knew it kept beneath the skin
that reflected an image
of what I wanted to see.
River and I.
Today, the supple surface lies
like a negative of our time together.
My timeless companion has taken on
the hardness of this age,
cool turned cold, promising
a stinging slap should I place my cheek
to its blank and frozen stare.
But here, by the shore, where I sit
and wait in this winter of my time,
there is an unfrozen slice,
a teasing smile of the undying maybe
a younger me might mistake
for some sparkle of a spring
I probably will never live to see again.
Photo inspiration from my friend Diana Matisz.