the blog

Simple

They call me simple now
Because  I have less
and want less
and talk less

After the sting
When my cheeks and mind had cooled
I hoped so

I have been washed up on the sides of shallow streams
And whipped around on white water rivers
And up to my shoulders in alligator swamps
To my knees in heavy mud
I have been enraptured with the false promise of the bay
And thinking that I had reached the end of hope
I have laid my limbs down around the buoys
And bobbed my time away

If there is an ocean after all,
and if I am nearly there,
Well good.

All my broken canoes,
and the shoes I left buried in quicksand,
WIll meet me here,
Where the rain comes back to the sea
And ten thousand currents coalesce
to be simple.