The mother’s nurturing curves at the warm springs,
As I grow too old to be held at night.
Slick against the rocks, the guiding force carries me.
Shallow slides and an unknown trail of clouds gaze down.
Each leaf titters like fairy’s wings,
hard at work at the soothing brook.
Each silky ripple brushes my skin with the same love of a moon’s light,
And I blossom with open hands and eager faces,
Alongside the flowers that nod on the water’s shakey surface;
Sojourners guided by the ocean’s pull, drawing us nearer to the unknown.
Wanderers that allow the day to end,
And enjoy the prospect of cool salt water that prunes the skin,
Cleans the bones, I’m sure I will, sea,
But the trees always bloom, no matter how close I am to the shore.
I sojourn with the oranges and the insects,
The half rotten, forgotten peels and petals.
I heard of a lost book, slipped from the hands of a traveler,
And it only took a day for it to reach the ocean, disintegrating
Words that, if they could read fast enough, the fish would understand,
And memorize the last words before the pages turned blank.
I smile at the sun, and think what my final words will be,
And if anyone will read my last pages.
I smell the minerals in the air,
And see the looming clouds of darkening wind off the coast ahead.
Even when I arrive at the estuary’s mouth,
Pushed into the open, at last,
The river will always remain for the other sojourners,
Guided by the water and attracted to the end.
The day will remain, forever,
Holding those who pass by, mourning every sunrise.