I steer my boat of memories
upstream beneath the lacy moss of
cedar trees where a nightingale drapes
his songs like a spray of flowers over
Beyond the shallows stands a wooden bridge
where we cast our secrets to the lazy river.
Each goldenrod that lines the banks bear witness
to the summer kiss and breathless bodies
swept away on a crumple of faded serape.
How sweet were those days, so blue were your eyes,
how deep is the longing for those star strung nights?
“The Red Rowboat” by David Lloyd Glover