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| A Journey of Despair |
My darling one,
there is no room for misfits like us
in the land of milk and honey.
They are closing down the border.
My wayward mistress’ eyes—
shadows fall across her wisdom
shaped by aged gurus of the East;
flung aside, she lies by the river
shivering with doubt and fear.
A perfect match for one another—
I, a mariner without a compass
and she, an aimless carpetbagger
who has lost her way to Shambhala.
I ask a preacher for the quay
but he laughs and says that boat
has sailed, more than a year ago.
He leers at my lover’s silent beauty
and sells me a jar of his finest cure—
a miracle to heal my misplaced ambition
for a return befitting only heroes.
She tells me of her contempt for me
and so, we settle for a junk boat
sailing the Magdalena River.
The captain is delirious, the helm
is broken and the flag is raised:
Lulled for days and weeks on end,
we sway to a bootleg song on loop
by
a band of bandits on the run.
Part of the Mosaics cycle of poems
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