POETRY: Waters

I sought the river flowing homeward, the sea washed down with ice that froze my blood.  I seek the offer of the cleansing waters, the rinsing off of journeyed sands of sin.  The oceans were untameable, their innocence now slap and sting with surf. Once long ago familiar, now changed by bathing of the boats.  Home again and yet I’m not; the river laughs along the new-cut banks. Roots rise up, unwatered, dry and brittle.  The song the river sings is of a different pitch, and I do not know the words.