Moon River

By DON MUNRO

Moon River …

you once held my Huckleberry friend,

the two of us … after the same rainbow’s end

in your timeless rhythm

as I pushed him in his swing,

blue

and

white and

chipped on the edges,

showing rusty metal underneath

because we were so poor.

My heart was filled with joy

even as he cried from the pain of

being in the cold world. So new.

He would come to me and I would sing:

“Wider than a mile … I’m crossing you in style someday.”

And then when he left, his eyes would search the blurry, dark images

for me … just me.

A miracle.

Sometimes when he came back, he would be smiling, blindly searching.

“Two drifters off to see the world…there’s such a lot of world

to see.”

And when I told him he was my Huckleberry friend and I looked

into the pool of emptiness … his brown eyes,

I could swear he knew me, all of me,

right from the very beginning.

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