Still Motion


Emotions flow, yet moving not
I’m flown about
by winds unseen,
over a frothy ocean green
with whitecaps reaching to the sky.
There am I suspended.
below the peace of mortal sleep;
above the dead immortal deep.
I sigh.

I cannot stay aloft alone.
Icy waters crash below,
in formless dances as they wait:
watching, reaching for my soul,
they know. They wait
as spinning high, then slipping low,
unsteady up and down I go,
unsure, unreal, not knowing why
the love I feel is just a dream.
I try.

No real motion, yet I fly,
Amidst the turmoil of goodbye
her fingers grow hypnotic sounds.
I hear the pleasure of her feeling
stealing high above the wet below.
The tears are mine, inside.
I cry.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Rhey W. Hedges, March 5,1974
(Our piano echos in my mind)


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