today's philosophical revalation is that every river pulls away, a constant rejection of








coastlines and strangers,
declaring that the world is beautiful but not alluring enough to stay
the current mocks desert visitors who said they saw the river,
but the river I saw is not the river you saw is not the river he saw
The same first appearance but every particle a different life
beating at the bank until it grows old and fades away
I told you I am the river because you do not allure me enough to stay,
that existence is an affair between honesty and consciousness
the kind of tale that ends with a stabbed body left in silk sheets
blood stained clothing and pale skin, i would never try to kill consciousness
because I might need it someday
like i might long for you someday
one day when the desert sun takes the river away
and the musty sand begs the patagonia gods for water,
when i become the old woman who has seen half the world, every blue sky
but never the certain taste of comfort,
never felt the dawn asleep in her bed mumbling soft words to
the lifegiver beside her
in a pink house, pink for clouds and longing
for endlessness