Moon River
By DON MUNRO
Moon River …
you once held my Huckleberry friend,
the two of us ... after the same rainbow’s end
in your timeless rhythm
as I pushed him in his swing,
blue
and
white and
chipped on the edges,
showing rusty metal underneath
because we were so poor.
My heart was filled with joy
even as he cried from the pain of
being in the cold world. So new.
He would come to me and I would sing:
“Wider than a mile … I’m crossing you in style
someday.”
And then when he left, his eyes would search the
blurry, dark images
for me … just me.
A miracle.
Sometimes when he came back, he would be
smiling, blindly searching.
“Two drifters off to see the world…there’s such a
lot of world
to see.”
And when I told him he was my Huckleberry friend
and I looked
into the pool of emptiness ... his brown eyes,
I could swear he knew me, all of me,
right from the very beginning.
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