Salmon Broken from the outset I made my way upstream Looking for the outlets A place to drift... to dream A space to sift through driftwood A race to realms less loud A trace of me that sits good A face that stands up proud Fractured, crooked, smiling Content within its lot Postmortems lost in stylings … and found again in knots The speeds we try to fathom The depths we try to gauge The shallows where we have them The current doubts assuaged Yet nestled in the undertow A raft of thoughts, they roll Like ice that's sold to Eskimos They're surplus to the whole They serve as excess in the hold Baggage we don't need It slows the journey, routes less bold Goods traded we should heed With lessons lost with faces We should be calling friends Lost in barren places Beginnings missing ends Through middles, we swim solo Happy for the peace If we're lucky fate might follow Provide us some release Release from routes expected Sinker, line and hook A lure bright, inflected Taken out with just a look A fancy fly to draw the eye Away from current streams So waterlogged, a spirit flies, of other realms it dreams Schemas carved of river flows To ocean beds we've made To lie in midst the undertows With all the games we've played Yet instinct tells us swim upstream To where we all came from A whisper building to a scream To what we will become … 'cause in the end, we're broken Doesn't matter where we've been Listen well when words are spoken Find your family... drift... and dream |