he smelled of a river
which one i don't
and will not know
his hands worked into
by the world
gnarled just as
a river does
over its deep heartbeaten rocks
which one you know
there's no way
for me to know
his voice rolled undercurrent
over and under and around
the space the generation
of space i barely exist in
i barely know of
he told me of the world
in rivers through a beard
that ran and fell
naturally from his face
to his chest
under his hands
gentle enough
to be allowed its course
a course which
i don't, i never will, know
jul 7, 2011
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