Rachael Mead #6, Writing poetry while I'm meant to be planning the next kayaking trip

Writing poetry while I’m meant to be planning the next kayaking trip

This world is just one beautiful hallway,

the river’s skin plaited with currents

and sharp sparkle while sun filters

through the eucalypts printing a lace

of light on each retina. The tree-ferns

raise their fists but we keep on, adrift

in the rhythm and drowned rumble

of each stroke that is now our default

for silence.  We don’t know where we are

but we’re not lost. Here is enough, each

paddle-splash summoning its own tiny vortex,

teaching us, stroke by stroke, how long a day can last.