You wished me a gentle journey.
We parted on the shore —
where the river meets the sea,
smoothing the stones beneath her feet.
The air warmed
A soulful beat
I climbed into my little boat
waiting on the waters.
Blue water rippled over the spreading oars:
“Go gently on your journey. “
The air was thick —
a dense rising
a pressure in the chest,
a voice said: “Row on.”
I crouched in the dark grey mist
through the tall grey waves,
to guide my boat between two large rocks.
*Take me across the sea,*
to the desert place where kinship walks
with a gentle presence.
Where rivers run under sand-duned feet,
where tears taste and warm hearts meet.
I rowed
To carry the part
to let it pass
And moor my boat at the edge
Of the sand-duned place
Breathing your presence home.
In the Solitude of exiled travelers
The taste of sweetness,
the rest of belonging.
