River Song

The Rental Man, he drives me,
he leaves this simple guarantee,
No matter what you choose to be
you’re destined to become the sea.

So off key only slightly,
I sing of birds and cooling breeze,
I hum the sounds of rushing streams
the gentle sweetness loneness brings,

Of flowers going nova
upon a granite canvas bluff,
of fallen trees that tumble dead
and settle on the river bed.

The trees lean in from both sides,
they form the frame in which I ride,
an osprey calls cheerooh cheerooh,
I tell her she is beautiful.

A thunk and grated scraaaaping,
at times I miss the river’s way,
but when I read the currents right,
a lap-slap thrums my kayak’s side.