Watching the river flow
I would give you all the rivers I have known,
from The Rush in unfrozen Narnia
to the snowy waters where Scrooge had his heart
pecked to pieces: A Muppet Christmas Carol.
There are rivers in the arteries of my heart,
they flow blue, emerge in pinpricks on my fingers,
drip by drip. Blood is thicker than our daughter’s tears,
tears she might cry from her brown eyes,
if she is ever to exist.
I want a river for our back garden
to wash away the mess we’ll make.
A river to disturb the sediment of sleep
as it gathers in the corners of our eyes.
I will get a license to drive through the mountains,
we will sip from the streams until our cheeks glow.
Yes, we will sit upon beds and benches and boulders,
watching the river flow.