the day after
the dark wild waters of passion and despair
had flushed my soul -
the earthquake of my rites was over.
I woke up in a canoe, gently swaying on the river
and my mourning had changed to Indian white.
sore with a pleasant post-fever ache, I sat up
and inspected the shifted landscape,
the unknown walls on the far bank,
and in the clear distance the canyon opened up
to an uncharted land,
with brand-new mountain ranges
and a sky promising a myriad new weathers.
you were headstrong in life,
you are headstrong even now,
my beloved ghost.
but it is beside me that you travel now.
I picked up the paddles and began to row.