The vein that runs
From hand to heart
Is a river that runs
Inside of me.
Is a current that winds
From me to you,
A life that twines
A circle of truth.
Is this little poem
A finger-width wide,
A hand’s breadth
In the delta’s tide,
Is the river of love
That runs inside.
Is a mark that tells
Of a thing removed.
A bloodless scar,
A mute rebuke.
A band of gold
Set down to rust.
Where a picture hung:
A ribbon of dust.
Is a fledgling bird
Bloodied and stunned,
A boat cast
From sea to ground.
An ear retuned
To a distant sound
Is a river of love
That flows unbound
Ere long as my heart
Beats yet. No regret.
No right or wrong.
A river of love
Flows through us
Like a song.