Undercurrent
In the quiet spaces of talks with my son
the air hangs still while I wait for his answer,
I’ve spent all the words I can muster
and my gaze falls on the floor – fumbling,
trying to hide my want for just one word.
The still air – fragile, breaks
with a welcome single sound, asserting itself,
so simple – and not even a word –
but an ‘uhm’ that awkwardly stakes
its claim and pledges more of himself.
With words we carve the course
of our conversation’s flow.
Most times we glide the waters slowly,
at times, we portage ’cross the shallows,
and now and then we’re shot like a gun through the foam.
Endless tangles of trees line
our way, while bluffs and sandbars witness
and bridges stand and guard our progress.
But the Unseen Word flows beneath us;
these are the Waters that move and hold and turn us.
My words, his words, flow freely now,
but these trees and bluffs and sands
have seen centuries of currents pass.
The waters move us faithfully on,
but one day he’ll be further along,
and farther down Stream than I’ve ever gone.
–David Herin