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.