The Rafters and the Watchers

Living is a carnival ride down a cataract on a raft made of wicker and bone, each gray boulder holding ripples of heartache - joy- togetherness and alone. Amidst the froth, like minded others join in navigating through concussion and confusion- Along the shore are watchers-never jumping in for a sip, never tasting sweet or sour on their lips walking in the same direction, toward the falls but they're already dead without a doubt. The water path has steepened the rafters have been thinned the falls are just beyond the final bend shooting over the unknown edge, air born and terrified but wholly alive- Splashing down into the silvery violence flecks of loved ones and strangers dead and alive tumbling in front of your eyes- Popping to the surface of tranquility pool bloodied-broken-yet peacefully cool the clouds whispering, "the game ended in a tie". The watchers arrive along the fringe of the fray, heads down, garments pristine losing at a game they never played. All of us liberating their last tear and hobbled faith- the buzzards move in taking rafters and watchers for a stroll behind the waterfalls lined with misty angels and elephant bones. 2/4/19