She is the only one who guides me. I am they only one who flows through her hair. One coursing stream with meager choice and ample ambition. One who does not wish to stay here but is here. One desperate spirit captured by nature. From my canoe, I can travel with her, but the shore hugs together and doesn’t give thought to stealing my oar.

Her dreams are stuck. She propels esoteric waves above the earth.  She soars up and her captors sink down and her waves tickle the trees between their unstinting limbs and kiss the clouds with liberated lips and never forgets her desire. This is how she speaks.

Let one forget her desire for living, she’d freeze like water in a stream, each plate of ice moving where the wind tells it to. Row, row, row she says when I sink. She encourages.

When I am too weak and too crushed to keep rowing, when I am but a machine in a monotonic factory, then it is I flow with the stream. When there is nothing left to row with on this course. One who glides despite rocks. One who is and does not forget to be. One whose only reason is to dream and dream.