My Life In Word

The Crossing

The black river carries the journeyman
without asking his name.
Its water is ink-dark,
quiet as a held breath.
He steps in,
and time loosens its grip.
No yesterday clings to his ankles.
No tomorrow pulls at his sleeve.
The current knows another place—
not ahead,
not behind,
but between.
Here, the sky pauses mid-thought.
Stars forget their order.
Memory and desire sit side by side
without arguing.
The river moves him gently,
as if it remembers him
from a life he hasn’t lived yet.
When he steps onto the far bank,
nothing has changed—
except the way he stands inside himself.

Simona A. Brinson

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash 
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