The body is a boat of leaves
We are always leaving this world behind
where blind men fight with shadows,
the left hand feeling in the dark
for the right.
We come from behind a wall of words
surprised to find the wall still standing
and slip into the Wind.
The body is a boat of leaves.
We are taken by our chosen river
as oak trees uprooted in a flood
stripped bare of private love and memory.
Compose your mind as you are able and be ready
to abandon face and finger prints. Leave them behind for the crows
and the river gulls.
These are only thoughts as I paddle under the Wind River bridge
and the blowing railroad trestle into the Columbia.