Sunday, 10 May 2015

the rains of never end

All the old and endless roads across the continent I traveled, all the green and beaten highway signs, all the years weathered and cracked... still would I travel those distances twice to see your face and hear your voice and walk with you again. Break my bones with curses, you could not undress my faith. Our children walk the earth. They are lost now. One has left behind the room she rented and disappeared, direction south. I have a letter from a Honduran authority I have not yet had translated. The stamps are colorful green, with provincial luminaries unknown to us. The paper is moist and of a tree which does not grow north of the Mexican border. Our children. Lost. One has sailed around the world, never to complete the circle. I see him in a dream. He looks like you. The madness in the eyes. His hair has grown long. It plays out behind him like fire, licking the Atlantic somewhere outside the English Isles. The ends throw sparks. They tell of a time when we were all together. Living on the river, Portland. Fishing for our dinner. The rains of never end.