Alone.
It’s the way we came,
it’s the way we’ll go.
Back in Anne’s boat,
I am rowing
in the dark.
Unlike her,
I know there’s no island,
no solace in fools’ parables,
no paternal goal
no fish shaped island.
One father was enough,
without the royal flush,
I’ve had my fill.
Even on this pleasure cruise
the twins are with me.
Delores, in the valleys
of the 20 foot waves
that hide the stars and moonlight,
Angustina is at the crest,
holding me above the darkness
until she lets go,
falling,
back into the valley.
I know this boat will endure
these harsh seas,
I’ve been here before
it’s been worse.
Solitude is not only comfort,
it’s necessary,
it’s hard enough to row for one.
I will find land,
peace is waiting for me,
for now, at least.
I was there,
under Hill’s weeping fig
I pulled the ground out
from underneath my heart.
Like a magician with a tablecloth
only taking the table with it,
leaving the dishes to fall.
What have I done?
I am rowing.