Michael Kalavik Poet Lyric

Cross the River

It’s a short walk to the river 
From the village of my birth,
From the place of my conception 
And my home, for what it’s worth.
Just a short walk made each morning, 
A tradition that survives,
As my gently lowing cattle 
Sing the purpose of their lives.

I could blame it on a promise 
Worth a basketful of salt,
But the path I had to travel 
Wasn’t anybody’s fault.
Let the children chase the dustman 
Till the season of the flood.
I may wear the mask of wisdom, 
But I’m only flesh and blood.

There’s a clearing in the forest 
Where the dogs can smell the rain,
Where they bark like so much thunder 
At the twilight’s dimming flame.
From my bed of leaves and branches 
I shall reach up toward the sky
And I’ll drag the sun down with me 
In the breath before I die.

Cross the river. 
Let me rest beneath the trees 
Across the river
Where the spirits of our fathers 
Keep their hearts. 
When one dream ends, 
Another starts.

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