leaning in to the crossing
It’s not enough to send up blind signals,
to hide with my back against the bank
listening to the river song.
I am meant to meet the others.
I am meant to show up
and give myself over.
I stand on the ferry leaning into the crossing.
My hair is braided neat, but its full blooming
is a shared knowing between it and the wind.
There is light in my empty hands.
All I have with me is all that I am.
I go to meet the others eye to eye.