Along the banks of the Mississippi
Along the shore of the Great Lake
Along the innumerable sweetwater veins, inlets, tributaries, and puddles that lie undisturbed in quiet reflection of the big sky, rests
A boat
No bigger than a Dingy but as big as a Carrack
Depending on perspective
Depending on imagination
Warped and split and faded
Abandoned
Abandoned to old age
Not old age in the sense that the boat was old and needed to be replaced
Though that be true, too
Abandoned to old age because the caretakers of that humble craft grew up and moved on
As all must and the lucky do
A home for a Signature Spider
Or a nesting place for a Black Tern or a Wood Thrush
Quiet neighbors to that which is embedded deep in that discarded wood
That which has permeated into the stains and pounded into the dings and shaped into the carvings
That which is not easily described but has been left there, all the same
The tragedy and the comedy
The first confession to another person not named Mom and Dad
Declarations of beliefs that were shattered and changed and received once more
The first beers taken from an alcoholic stepfather’s cooler underneath the workbench in the garage
The dedications to dreams and the toasts to failures
The tears that flowed brisk as the current down the cheek and off the tip of the chin to fall into the still damp slop under toe
The laughs as countless as the stars laughed underneath
The lonely private reflections upon their place and their existence in the universe as they floated in the darkness
The sum of All Existence
Buoyed by a little boat
As it moved upon the face of the waters
And it’s there
Along the banks of the Mississippi
Along the shore of the Great Lake
Along the innumerable sweetwater veins, inlets, tributaries, and puddles that lie undisturbed in quiet reflection of the big sky, somewhere
They long to return again
To collect that which was abandoned
Lost, perhaps unknowing and by accident
For maybe
If they can collect the Gone
Save the Fallen
Find the Departed
Just maybe
If imagined hard enough
If wished hard enough
If prayed hard enough
Maybe
These ancient waters will see fit to bless them and lift the boat loose from its resting place and
In their present encampment
Further down the river or on the other shore
They’ll look toward the bend or squint at the horizon where it will appear
And find them again
Little pieces of Soul litter the land and muddy the waters
Perhaps unknowing and by accident
Given and received as gifts
Added to our collection
Traded
Like baseball cards