Kwelera

We arrived at the river banks to find
Two old crones already ensconced
in aeons old afternoon armchair conversations;

We arrived to find that maybe Love
Is not the thing we think we love
But in the moving towards it,

And maybe we weren’t ever really rebellious,
Just bad at learning new things.
It may be that nothing is as it seems

As we lock up meaning quick safe and tight
To attach to old story lines
We don’t even know we are writing half the time,

Something to hold on to
In this magic maelstrom eternity world of uncertainty.
There’s no difference between the me

Of the Then and The Now
When I gaze me, happy face
In the bathroom mirror,

Beam my quasar being, and know 
You’re just my latest great teacher, Oh Supreme One,
And maybe not the thing I think I love.