Dagger turning turning turning turning
not severing but scalding each sliced nerve
while raw psyche’s yearning yearning yearning
for that lady in the valley, soft curve
of her lost smile calling calling calling.
Does she even know? What do rivers know
of valleys, secrets we’ll never know? Falling
falling falling lost rivers always find
valleys, flow with power like poetry,
flow with insight beyond poets’ divine
calling. Flow like grace, fulfilling and free
throughout sacred universe. Who can slow
rivers? Who can quell pain? Can poets gain
heaven? Know when to stop? To start again?
Roger Armbrust
June 1, 2020
