In somnolence we share a solemn sigh
Beneath the sky that Horus soon will claim.
A beast on the horizon turns its eye
To us- but is, through nervous laughter, tamed.
The river pulls us gently; still we row,
Beneath each exhalation cursing fate.
Half-hearted heaves betray the secret known:
Along the delta lies the beast in wait.
We whisper to the fish that pass below,
But as they swim they offer no respite.
They merely dance around the words we sow;
An oarsman's words mean nothing to a sprite.
From time to time I reach beyond the planks,
Possessed by restlessness I cannot shed.
I take my oar and mark the riverbanks
With lines and patterns floating in my head.
I wonder if, when we no longer row,
Those who come after us will see and know.