we stirred
the silent night.
i stood among the moths,
while he knelt over crawling bugs
below.
vomit
dripped from his mouth.
he gripped the concrete's edge,
and said, "were this a cliff, i would
be dead."
in somnolence we share a solemn sigh
beneath the sky which Horus soon will claim.
a beast on the horizon turns its eye
to us - but is, through nervous laughter, tamed.
the river pulls us gently; still, we row,
beneath each exhalation cursing fate.
half-hearted heaves betray the secret known:
along the delta lies the beast in wait.
we whisper to the fish that pass below.
why do they all keep swimming out of sight?
they seem to flee from every word we sow.
an oarsman's words mean nothing to a sprite.
from time to time, i reach beyond the planks,
possessed with restlessness i cannot shed.
i take my oar and mark the riverbanks
with lines & patterns floating in my head.
i wonder if, when we no longer row,
the oarsmen who come after us will know.