the ones that come

Here’s my draft for today, Sunday 05.19.19.

the ones that come

quickest, so the river
flow of my words
calls to you, hope
brimming tense and wind
whipped up, no matter how
I write to wash against you
in thigh deep, your skirt
held about your waist
taut of skin smooth memory
with both clenched hands
still you are unmoved, except
swaying to be chilled away more
by everything I compose
you, asleep as if to my pen
as it flows across the pages
multiply of creeping and hard time
running on ever to the sea
babbling slightly, heard as some
unwashed, unfed, unbirthed burden
never brooked, not measured out with me
and you hear, perhaps to you
an even heavier song somewhere else
of no years lapping at you
a tongue for you straining
us now more than ever
faint my sounds to nothing fading
and left flat, no tune here to speak of
and so, uncertain of what
you may have heard
my fading rhymes, you reason so
instead of wading farther in
you turn, stride back to shore, deaf
you step upon these scoured pebbles
pushing time up, and out beneath your feet
you come to the shore
turn away from this stream, and wander on
by yourself
far from all I have ever
written for you
will write for you
lost
unread, unheard, unbothered
run all to wasting in a vast blue world
of enormous swell
and ocean breaking verse

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