River Drifting

Heat from the flame forges a fierce stare.

Beware of that gorge, when you pierce another's eyes.

No lies contain enough saturation to wash away the sickness.

Be real and slow in a thick way, with the heavy night of translucent

shimmering breathing on your neck.

Every morning another head upon your shoulders.

Every night another wreath on the pillow.

Every hour another seam lining the walls between dreams,

carefully thought out flayed through and separated again.

Vanished like the fog when the wind washes down the valley.

On the back of the spinning rivers, always going back again.

I know.

Who I am. Who all that I have been and have become now.

Will be becoming in this moment.

So loud when it dances now, it shakes the roots of all the trees.

Tread lightly in the shadows and the warrior's pace knows your way.

And will rest with you there.

Be light upon your own heart most of all, be like a waterfall, only then will

you know her.

All crashing below is free again. Be the flow. It is okay to let all go and drift again.

September 18th, 10:46 p.m.

 -Ed Tajchman