Portage

I trace a path between the rocks, jagged cold and grey
that whip the waves into a froth; tea-like tannin stain

Is this a place that we can pass, safe, Or should we stay?
For rapids, falls, and tangled logs, have thwarted us along the way

We’ve pulled the ropes, despite no hope, down paths of constant change 
And now we go on one last float, to salvage a tired day.

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