The Rafters and the Watchers
Living is a carnival ride down a cataract.
Atop a raft made of wicker and bone.
Each gray boulder holding ripples of
heartache - joy- togetherness and alone.
Amidst the froth, like-minded people join in.
Navigating through concussion and confusion,
Along the shore are watchers-who never take a sip,
never tasting sweet or sour on their lips.
They all head downstream toward the falls.
The water path has steepened. The rafters have thinned.
The falls are just beyond the final bend.
Shooting over the unknown edge,
airborne and terrified but wholly alive.
Splashing down into the silvery violence.
Flecks of loved ones and strangers
tumbling in front of your eyes-
Popping to the surface of Tranquility Pool.
Bloodied-broken-yet peacefully cool.
The watchers arrive along the fringe of the banks.
Heads down, garments pristine.
Losing at a game they never played.
2/4/19
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