Capturing what wants to be free
Without the veil to hide its spirit
Of monosynaptic simplicity
Letting all impulse to become action
While tying the wooden canoe
To a tree trunk out of the muddy water
And whispering lines
From past moonlights
The feather dropped in flight
Will never ride Northern winds
As the name left between the lines
Will often want to be free
Free to call the journey silly
Free to dip old bread in onion soup
While the canoe hopes
For new shores and wind
There is nothing after the regret
Of not letting the feather be free alone
For when we untie the wooden canoe
The river never finds its ocean
It just sinks in the sand
Of days we once thought
Would last
For times we would have
July 26, 2019
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2019
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