Unfinished Conversations

Unfinished Conversations

Perhaps we can walk to the river and
finish our conversation there.
I would speak with you, sitting next to you,
on a craggy overlook with the sun behind us,
the river ambling past us,
and the fog nearly lifted above our heads.

Perhaps we can put a period to end
this unfinished paragraph without
rewriting the letter over again.

Walk with me to the river,
we will find the shade that makes the afternoon
nearly as contented as morning.

I will hope, (I have no indication for my hope’s veracity), but
I still hope the water past us, different as it is from the river
we knew a year before,
might also carry our words full distance to the
ocean where all things mingle without competition.

Perhaps we can sit by the riverbank
like we did only once before
and finish the sentence we started,
the ellipsis that translated everything without saying,
so your implications only left me wondering what lingered
between the dots.

Walk with me to the river,
there is more below the surface tension,
the quiet ripples that reflect the winks of the sun,
there is life beneath the mirror stream
beyond sight of our myopic vision.

I will slow my listen, and hope (still, evidence unseen)
the same life lies beneath the questions you left
the last time I thought I took the bait.
This time I’ll ask the questions out loud that
only bubbled below my fear, and trust, not you,
nor me

But the river to take the best sentences we have
out to sea and beyond reclamation.