for James Lee Jobe
Remember when we used to be the river?
It occurs to me that we are time.
Look what a fantastic place love finds
When we open ourselves above these empires
Of dust that once were sleep or weapons,
Ocean after ocean that we ran toward.
How could we know the way?
Look at the stars. What are they doing?
Our children rushing past in an insomnia
Our soul demands, so that we never lose
Our place in this river. And then, suddenly,
They are gone. So much music they are.
We remain the river. Kind of an ivory labyrinth
Borges spoke of when he was a river.
The images continue to occupy us
Even as we move through the great
Corridors of the heart. We find ourselves
Still breathing. We become an epitaph.
Medusa’s Kitchen
(more poems by D.R. Wagner)
THE POETRY PLACE 