The Rapids

At times I feel poetry with
no words. Feelings whitewater
through me with the scent of purpose.
Memories crash against the banks 
of an unexplored river looking 
for their level, promising to be 
tamed by language if they can
get still. 

Titanic movements swell inside
with a seaspray of hints at
profundity.  My life will be 
forever changed if this water
falls into vocabulary.  

So I paddle on, still believing.
Still believing.  
Still believing.