A canoe flies over the landing, and main street, but doesn't stop.
We play her favorite songs; holding gifts, we invite her down.
From their little towns in the sky, the planets and the prettiest stars wink at her.
We wish the canoe would come visit; wish she would take us to another river,
to other towns, to someplace else...
(In our body's rivers, desire comes and goes from an insecure port called heart).
But the canoe makes foam in the clouds with her oars and doesn't budge from her spot.
Why doesn't the canoe come to our town? Why doesn't she even listen to her own songs?
Why doesn't she want to row to the stars?
Perhaps in another river, another town; perhaps in another life, someplace else...
Translated by James Kimbrell and Rebecca Morgan