SONG 8
ENDINGS AND TRANSITIONS
and pillow my muddled head on my knees
sobbing into my dark nauseous center
hollow, hopeless, and void of remedy
I rock myself cradling sorrow and regret
two entwined vipers within my emptiness
I spend night’s last hours on the river bank
swaying between exhaustion and fresh tears
I am ambered like an ant in resin
I cannot sort out this nameless lesson
I have nowhere to go without my friend
I’m anchored to this place we walked as one
I want to stay – linger in the dying heat
If I leave this shore, I walk away from Hart
forever – a dream I raised up, then drove off
for a bottle and bad soup on a stove
Why didn’t I veer away instantly
when we saw that puzzling water serpent?
How could I leave my only friend and run
with that woman and her wicked madness?
I would go back and kill her if the thought
of touching her did not revolt me so
But it wasn’t her – truly, it was me
who hungered for her poison low and foul
She was just there -- conveniently at hand
I’m the one who left, going into dark
I’m the one who broke friend and my two hearts
I watch the sun rise and wonder why it does
Everything is finished. Days meaningless
I did not see how fragile all this was
We are all just green tender onion plants
open and ripe for harsh hands to uproot
At noon I think of going after Hart
At dusk I still sit and rock on the shore
When dark comes, I crawl into the red boat
pulling a blanket and the canvas sail
over me wishing not to wake again
knowing I will, though I am two days dead
Diving deeper into the watery void
the sea’s weight presses on me like a stone
hand over hand I follow to anchor’s rode
down down and deep to the floor of the sea
the rough steel links a forged weight and sinking
each one a question -- darkening thinking
At hull-crushing depth I find the anchor’s
claws clutching sand like dragon-gold talons
My ship rocks far above – ghost floating pale
Her rigging stands soundless unmoved by wind
as she glides tethered under folded sail
No compass point to direct the right tack
The sea before me — the sea at my back
When I wake, I build a small warming fire
The wind blusters up and rain clouds hang low
I squat huddled in a blanket staring
at the red boat and all she could have been
Now she may as well be a funeral ship
that ferries me to hell for what I’ve done
Hell can bring no worse than this betrayal
What more hideous scenes could I conjure up?
Instantly I answer this inquiry
Nothing
anywhere
ever again
The fire slow-burns to smoldering embers
I place a sturdy stick’s tip on the edge
and lay more sticks across the dying glow
I walk to the red boat’s bow and kneel there
with the blackened stick and write four letters
on the starboard hull – repeat them on port
Each stick flickers and sparks – I grasp each one
by its unlit end and blow on the flames
as one by one I burn the four letters
scorching red paint to black on the hull’s wood
I smudge with fire to scar and cauterize
with no hope to heal the wound coiled inside
from what I have done and what will never be
So, now I have the heart to start again
downriver – away from Hart’s memory
For some time more, I sit staring at Hart’s
name seared onto the boat – letters ragged
and uneven – much like I am right now
I push off when rain falls and thunder sounds
close and low announcing plunging lightning’s
jagged bolts trace paths across veiling clouds
with forceful promises of drenching rain
as I set off due south on fire with pain
Soon I see the fatal inlet channel
and pull hard to be clear of it and her
Once past the channel mouth I keep stroking
putting distance, not forgiveness, between
The day’s rain falls steadily persistent
I receive it like an unsought blessing
pouring ointment on my weary body
deserted banks bind my central passage
pushing into unknown welcome waters
on the rising current’s relentless back
An unseen watcher would see me drifting
and think ‘what a fool’ – and it’s true – I am
Who but an outrageous fool would not see
the risk of loss before its run began?
A more tender lookout might see me pass
and call out and urge me to pull for shore
where I’d be treated as the homeless one
in need of pity – which I surely am
But no one looks out from the river bank
No generous guide appears to set my course
This is as it should be for one like me
I have charted maps to my own problems
I have strewn -- now pilot -- my own debris
a thousand miles or more to that salt mouth
behind, a current I can’t beat against
ahead, a sea-course that only points south
For days I steer in the deepest channel
eating little and sleeping even less
When the wind allows, the square-rigged canvas
plows the boat’s nose deep into the river
leaving a white and turbid wake behind
When I fall asleep and graze the shallows
I push my oar hard to faster running
When the current holds me, I sleep again
dream of Hart, and but for me, what might have been
The sound of not is a bell in my ears
slow-tolling this journey day after day
pounding in my ears until blood appears
running warm down my neck coating my fears
I hear faint echoes of the missing voice
the weight of no one in the tarnished bed
the wisp of breath lacks the beloved form
the laugh in my eyes somewhere else, not here
the white slate of dreams as dawn surges up
These absences shriek “not” in hollowed air
“There is not time!
Do not turn back!
Do not go on!”
Lacking courage, I question, “Do I dare?
and if I dare, how should I best begin?
and beginning, how should I then proceed?
and proceeding, how may I distinguish
what is rightly done and what is not?”
I hear river-singing in triple voice
These clear expressions may not sing for me
I see destiny’s fire, flame up and fall
“This is not what I meant at all
This is not it at all”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One night I dream a Hart so real I swear
he has forgiven me – come back to stay
but when he speaks, it is not as I thought
“It is all right,” Hart says deep in the dream
“You did what you could. No one can do more.
I will always see you here when you come.”
He’s not smiling but his voice is tender.
When I wake, my face feels wet – body flushed
Hart’s gone – never here – slipped away back there
Days alone – gray squalls on the horizon
Snubbed waves’ lazy rhythm lap the boat
I slouch in the red hull that keeps his name
as a marker so I will not betray
one like him again and turn joy away
Where is the one I believed would soon come?
I still listen to that oldest story
I’ve told myself all my life – that legend
about the rescuer who is coming
if I simply wait and watch long enough
I still ache for the one whose name is not
is not Jani – is not Hart – is no name
I still howl like a fired, black-limbed forest
burning for hidden names that must exist
The climbing sun has me on edge, searching
for the answer in the river’s body
I slip beneath its perfect skin – softening
pores and hair sheathed tight and liquid pliant
more loyal than any living lover
coupled like a believer, pledged faithful
In the distance I hear a harbor bell
ringing sadly against the blue-orange sky’s
encircled morning stars’ soundless singing
I am alone as I have often been
Somehow, for now, this is exactly right
I may have imagined Jani and Hart
the bright-learned teacher, but not that hag
None are here. I can’t say definitely
that three ever were. Still, I am alive
swimming in this river close by my ship
This is where I’ve always wanted to be
I’m the one who created this – not them
I float on my back, head turned to one side
one ear underwater hears the river’s
submerged heart pumping its fluid pressure
one ear toward stars’ humming constant measure
My body buoyant with my hands circling
just enough to keep me afloat, hovering
between two sounds making my own music
half-sung to stars and half-breathed to water
I journey upon you – you bear me up
I sound your depths – you light the middle way
I drink deeply – you are not diminished
Answers begin to rise like clear bubbles
No judgments, inquiries or scrutiny
I’m forgiven for being this alive
whatever I may gather in my time
I feel newborn and innocent – ready
to begin in this moment and the next
and the moment after that – fresh and sea-green
Water and sky and a good boat between
where each day I simply enter the stream
I swim back to Hart, lightly loft aboard
No answers required about where I’ve been
no verdicts about persons I’ve seen
Unexpectedly
spasms sour my stomach and I recall
the many stores and rations Hart has left
taking near nothing for his walk back north
Well, that was his decision and not mine
I think as I lift the storage cover
and pull out a firm red apple, bite deep
and let the sweet juice sliver down my chin
As I swallow, I remember Hart’s hand
holding out the apple to that woman
a venomous worm to my contentment
“Keep your apple!” I shout out loud to Hart
and fling the once-bitten fruit overboard
“I’ve swallowed the bitter juice of that time
while you cowered and complained and dragged behind!
Then you ran scared, leaving all we had planned!”
I set the oars, pull hard, heaving fiercely
I haven’t exactly convinced myself
but I have enough direction to know
I will not be the one limping back North
with my tail quivering between my legs
I am heading South as first intended
I am the one who keeps our hearts’ desires
While there is sky and water, this journey
is not ended
I row on into night’s sheltering dark
finding strength from the purging of those three
I pay no attention to lack of sleep
Only river voice beneath, broad and deep
I drift and row in a half-waking state
not knowing or caring where I end up
Steadily gaining southern latitudes
aiming, adjusting my new attitude
At dawn, I pull up Hart on shore and beach
I step off my ship – sand covers my feet
Wrapping a blanket, I curl up at dawn
with calm mind and empty gut fall asleep
The clock of noon rouses me on the sand
I rub my eyes and shake my arms and legs
all parts complaining from the day before
my hunger most of all moans and rumbles
Giving up disdain for Hart’s provisions
I rummage in the storage box to feed
my weakened body and my ravaged mind
I sit on the stern bench rocking idly
I munch on carrots and stale rye-grain bread
Suddenly, a newer hunger rises
I realize I have seen no people
not least to say hello—a quick good day
Still, the taste of Hart and of that woman
endure on my wounded mind’s attention
Yet, I want to know how shore people
might spend days while my bow bobs on water
After eating, I decide to explore
To do this, I must secure my small ship
so, I push off again and row relaxed
heading out to the river channel’s heart
I am not hurried – nobody to meet
The current obliges flowing gently
I forego the walk along the shoreline
My body has hinged onto river rhythm
My heartbeats rest deeply in each moment
beating time with the dripping wooden oars
Soaring above, seagulls call for no reason
obvious to me – gliding with their kind
Again, my thoughts turn toward cities’ people
The harbor bells that I have heard ahead
grow louder as I row and I decide
to explore the next village or city
This creates a desire to walk firm ground
and I row faster toward the ringing bells
Soon, I arrive at a stunning harbor
Larger craft and small at piers and moorings
sailors on the bigger ships busily
attend to tasks I only imagine
but the lesser boats I do understand
Most of them possess sails all furled and quiet
Few of these vessels’ decks are occupied
I slide silent underneath a high dock
and secure Hart tightly to a piling
with enough line to swing out to a ladder
stretching plumb from the pier to the water
I tie a stern line to the stout stairway
open the box at the back of the boat
and take out the money that Hart and I
squirrelled away and have used only little
I stuff the paper deep in my pocket
climb up to the dock and walk away
My legs shake, my body wobbles walking
I’m surprised at how much the river rhythm
has possessed my center’s hub through and through
Land and sand feel foreign, unforgiving
of my feeble progress along the shore
I stop to let my swirling head settle
and look out on the great ships riding high
and grand with sails folded and tied neatly
I realize that my boat is a tiny craft
and that I am fortunate to come far
enough to see the river widen so
that the other shore is difficult to see
Suddenly, I feel a fool to ever
think the red boat is a ship – no not that
more like a raft, a platform with a sail
Certainly, those who’ve seen me shake their heads
and to themselves call me crazy, stupid
So, I am, neither wise nor a sailor
yet I’ve fancied myself a true captain
How deluded, a danger to myself
Maybe Hart was right to head back northward
perhaps my behavior was all he needed
an excuse to end the unwise journey
But no, this is a rationalization
for my careless, crude, horrid behavior
I have no one to blame but my own self
and in my heart, I ask true forgiveness
though I did not see my treason toward Hart
All this deep thinking has allowed me time
to gain my land legs to a loping gait
I feel in my pocket for the money
nestled there like some charmed, quiet treasure
which, indeed, it is, for unless I work
this is all there is between me and lost
strength, lost hope, and certain failure most dire
I ascend a staircase stretching from shore
to the city’s streets above so unknown
yet tantalizing to the part of me
that I find myself nodding to strangers
and even smiling which surprises me
after all my self-criticism
Now, these other people bring happiness
something I can’t remember when I’ve felt
So strange that I find myself chuckling
I buy fruit, bread, and candy from street vendors
store all in my pack slung from my shoulder
Then explore the shops and their merchandise
I inspect my clothing and find it wanting
No wonder people passing looked at me
with suspicious eyes and even malice
I find a clothes seller, buy new garments
and ask for my old wear to be thrown out
Back on the street, I decide it’s time to return to Hart.
I find that I do not know the way back
I retrace my path as best I can asking
now and then, directions to the harbor
On the way, a rainstorm pours down the streets
driving people indoors huddling close
I am so tired. I just want to get back
to Hart, slip under canvas sail and sleep.
Tears well up and spill down my sun-dried cheeks.
Street lamps shimmer on, casting long shadows
on pocked gray walls perspiring with the day’s
accumulated warming and hard rain.
Reaching the harbor, I take my bearings
and head for the pier where Hart is secured.
I make a great effort not to stumble
I walk directly with grave intention
but I spend the next hour hurrying down
all the dead-end pier fingers; I grow more
panicked as each row ends without Hart.
Finally, I think I have the right row
Yes, this is it, I’m sure, sighing in relief
Stepping carefully down the straight ladder
reaching for the stern line – find it missing
I search under, around, and far outward
Perhaps she’s come untied or I’ve come down
the wrong pier again, but I am sure not
What thief would want to steal this tiny boat?
Maybe I didn’t tie her well enough.
How could this happen!? How could I lose both
Hart and today the boat I gave his name!?
The most unlikely answer leaps to mind.
Hart has stolen the boat – I’m sure of it.
He followed me somehow to this moment
Hart spying on me hidden on the shore
to see what wickedness to catch me in.
The boat is in my sight every moment
since we were separated, but today
he had his only sly chance to steal it
“Oh sure! Blame Hart,” I say sarcastically
to myself, “when I’m the true careless one.”
I should have bought a lock – it’s all my fault
I slump down hard on the pier completely
dejected and hopeless. I sit rocking,
my knees against my chest gazing out on
the river waters, wishing I rode her
“At least I still have a little money,”
(“Enough to buy a coach seat back to town,”
suggests a frightened voice inside my head.)
“No!” I say out loud and spit. “No! Never!”
But what instead I have no idea.
(“You could go back and leave again later,”
whispers the younger, frightened voice inside me.)
“Shut up!” I hiss at this much younger self.
“I won’t go back!” I bury my face between my knees.
“Do you make a habit of talking to yourself?”
a deep voice questions from close behind me.
I nearly fall off the pier in panic
as I skitter around to see who’s there
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