I’M NAKED ON THE JAMES,
BODY AND SOUL, BUT
CAN I BE AS HONEST AS TRUTH?
CAN I REACH INTO FEELING TIME,
WRITE DOWN AND COMMIT TO INK
WHAT I THINK, WHAT’S REALLY
ON MY MIND AND IN MY HEART?
JUST WHERE DO I START?
A SEPARATION IS SURE
BETWEEN TRUTH AND FANTASY--
BUT WHERE’S THE LINE I MUST DIVINE
TO INVEST ONE WITH REALITY?
THESE SANDED BANKS OF THE RIVERSIDE
MAKE RECORD OF A FLOOD THAT ROSE IN TIME--
BUT EVEN THAT RECORD WILL SUBSIDE
AS TIME AND FLOOD AMORE SLIP BY.
SO WHY IS THE MARK
OF MY FLOODED HEART WITH LOVING
SUCH A MONUMENT?
CANYONS ETCHED BY TIME IN STONE
RESIST THE PASSAGE OF MEMORY,
WITNESS AND MAINTAIN THE TRUTH.
THIS IS NOT TO BE DENIED, YET
MEMORIES CAN’T BE DEIFIED.
THE ONLY CONSEQUENCE OF TRUTH
IS THAT WE ARE, AS WE ARE.
WHAT WE MAY YET BE
REMAINS IN TIME FOR US TO SEE.
WE HUMANS ARE UNIQUE, I GUESS.
FOR WE, OF ALL, ARE ALLOWED TO CHOOSE
A PERSONAL MIX OF REALITY AND MUSE.
LODGED BESIDE THE WATER’S EDGE,
WINDED TEXTURES FILL MY EYES,
COLORS LEAP IN BRIGHTENED HUES,
THE SPIRIT OF CHANGE, ALONE, ABIDES.
EVEN THE TREES
WHICH BY PRIMAL GRIP AND TENACITY
HOLD THE EDGE TODAY,
TOMORROW MIGHT BE SWEPT AWAY--
ONLY IN THE MOMENT CAN WE STAY!
IS THIS WISDOM?
IS THIS LIGHT?
IS THIS SALVATION?
OR IS THIS OUR PLIGHT?
ALL I KNOW, AS I WALK AND STOP
ALONG THE RIVER HERE
IS THAT EVERYTHING IS MORE THAN IT APPEARS.
THE LONG RAYS SHOW
AS THEY RANGE ACROSS THE BOTTOMLAND,
LEAVES OF GRASS ARE TALLER THAN THEY STAND,
AND SEED PODS LITTERING THE SANDED WAY
ARE ENLIGHTENED IN THEIR DISARRAY.
AS EVENING FLOWS UP TO THE STARS
AND STILLNESS GATHERS IN THE MAW,
EVEN THE CLACKING OF THE CROWS
SOFTENS INTO AWE.
CRICKETS NOW TAKE UP THE SONG.
HOW THE MOMENT LINGERS ON!
© Gerry Sackett, 2018
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| James River from Robius Landing Park by OlWhitey from Wikimedia Commons |
