Poetry

Rushing Rivers

Dawn. We kiss, say our

good mornings.

You, the boy who is my best friend,

listen carefully to the account of my dreams.

Sometimes,

night terrors.

You know where parts come from, just as I do.

You know me,

inside and out, like

the motions you use cutting and shuffling cards,

except without the years of practice

yet at the same time

a lifetime of listening and observing.

We get ready for work,

the day ahead planned and uncertain.

We are a tag team, a cassette tape and pencil.

Together, nothing can keep us down.