The Estuary

By David J. Kennedy

I recall having faith in absolutes — 
time would heal, white doves would flourish, 
and our tile on the vast mosaic would never stain. 

But at some point, we see too much.
Time grows hostile, the red wattlebird swoops, 
and we can’t outrun the dawn. 

Breathless, we drift along a celestial river, 
bound for an estuary where the freshwater of being 
mingles with the salty brine of demise. 

Trawling for moments that paint the arid shore
green. Ever reaching for something wondrous,
like a fraction of the moon in the midday sky.

Clutching a rain-soaked list — lavender oil 
for the nerves, sertraline for the mood, and
passionflower for the fear of being forgotten

David J. Kennedy is a poet and non-fiction writer from Sydney, Australia. Themes of aging, wonder, and mortality feature prominently in his writing, and he has work forthcoming in Boats Against The Current Poetry Magazine and Jupiter Review. Twitter: @DavidJKennedy_