Where the Rivers Converge


Meet me where the rivers converge,
where the elemental


of thought and reflection
begin to inspire

the formation

of territories newly populated
by the wisdom of

hands that prayed

themselves into warm bundles
of anxious grins that called upon the old


of lost serpents, mighty but humble
and for the most part without guile


but keenly aware of the changes in direction
and flow, and contemporary with outgrowths of

new being

not yet reduced by the apparitions we have yet to fight.


It would be two years before
I would see you drifting there again
Arms ravaged and spread apart
Knowing and resisting

The hymn of the lotus
Who coursed our path
So many times before–
Wailing, suffering,

So that redemption may
Find and overtake us.
Consolation rounds the way
And becomes what we aspired to be

Back when your trembling hand
Took repose in my altar,
And the phantasmagoria of
Unlicensed touches

Dutifully escaped us.
Become still, my love,
And submerge your guilt
Into my aching abyss.

Decry not the glory of
Tattered saints in line to drink
From the abundant rivers
Of our forgotten travails.

Mold them into centers of incandescence
With wings glistened by
The silken nectar of our lust
And musings felt but unseen.

Generally speaking…

Generally speaking,
The reasons are self-evident,
And multiplied with each passing day.

And days become the subjects of
Dreams parceled out to eternal possibility.
And we go back to see the stuff of them,

And are startled.
But persistence gnaws at the
Gown of the witness who

Braves the fearsome phantasm
Of uncertainty and merges into it,
As the droplet into the depths of a luminous pond.

Tomorrow we will become
As baby eagles verging
On the precipice of hopes.

We will launch into multitudinous corridors
And emerge with shifting traces of glory
And affection on our wings.

Lest we become disoriented,
The illumination of translucent hearts will
Guide us through reasons hitherto unseen

But lived out through purpose,
Reified through reflection,
Embraced by trembling arms that do not seek to know,

But to feel, presently.

Raymond Lewenthal plays Alkan “Le Festin d’Esope”

Leave it to Alkan to spawn such a devilish web of variations from such a deceptively simple theme. Lewenthal’s is probably the sharpest, self-assured, incisive, most well-executed rendition of this witty, harrowing piece.

Rachmaninov Prelude in G Op 32 no 5

The Rach preludes stand as one of the enduring towers of classical piano repertoire, and they hold a solemn place in my heart. The G major is very touching. The gentle undulations in the left hand ebb and flow with the constancy of waves at sea, setting the mood for pensive reflection of all the serenity that engulfs me while alone in my boat. Hearkens to the etude-tableaux in a minor “sea and seagulls”.