River Source

In the realm of heaven there is no fear, thou Death art not there

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Follow the river to its sweet soul,

gold stones lingering at the foot

of water fashioned from light.

It will lead to a new place, a blue planet,

a kingdom of electric bursts and flirting

sparkle. Beauty is more than a fling

of roses or the flare of candle scent—

lemon paradise found. This is the world

of light, the world of glare and glow,

dawn that never bows to dusk. Follow

the river to its source, duck under fireworks

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that shoot down towards us, wave

at the painters, join the scientists

in a lively debate, settle under the comfortable

weight of books or etch the equation in the rich,

golden waters. Celebrate the arrival. Celebrate

the king and queen. The voyage to the end

of the river was the rapids of birth, the stones

and sticks of adolescence, tower of oppressed oppressors and the conveniently insecure, whip

past the boulders of grades

and graduation, plummet

down the waterfalls of heartbreak

and dodge the ghosts who linger there.

Paddle upstream, muscles straining

against economy, politics, war of words

and opinions. War of family. Every river’s

tale points here, to the paradise of the many

living after death. The river breathes with me,

awash with silt and memory,

rose-colored by nostalgia or stormy green

with the gales of trauma.

Keep the oars churning—heaven is waiting.