The Companion

When I said the river
was the tongue of God,
you laughed. I was trying,
again, you said, to see you
as a body of water.
Journey and longing.
Confusing nature and sex.
Drawn, like Kurtz, to the pungence of decay.
To the source. Hoping to slip past
the shark that circles my heart.
But he is a creature of perfect instinct.
Time rides the shadow of his wake,
unnoticed as the remora. Everything
is prey to him. And like you,
he does not fear the dark places.
He knew the secrets of the moon
before the ebb and flood of the first tide.
He knows no distinction between motive
and dinner, and does not remember
the kisses that tasted of lavender
and frangiponi.