Last night I had a dream.
I was going up the creek.
There were lots of stones and rocks
Not a gentle swell along the way.
It must have just rained.
It was beautiful,
A slight gaussian blur,
Pale black and white tones,
Spike Lee must have filmed it,
It was like a print that I made back in photo school,
Brought back feelings from back in the day.
I kept going,
I kept trekking, up and over small and big rocks,
Some were sharp, most were coarse.
I gathered some bruisin’ underestimating the currents’ force.
Barefoot, I climbed up a boulder, and saw my shoe disappear between rocks.
I winced. I did not want to dig into the mud.
Yet, “I must continue onward”, I had to make a try.
There was no other time.
I closed my eyes, forcing my hand into the earth.
I could of cried from the slime, all the muck, and the sticks, the sand, the current rushing against my hand,
As I tried, it was deeper than I thought.
The incodelescent of weary made me want to stop,
As I had gone further up the creek than I wanted to,
I thought that I had my shoe,
Pulling it out of the muck,
Yet, where was the other?
It was getting dark,
I looked around,
I was running my luck,
I went back down the creek for just a few.
And there, on an embankment,
Lay both of my shoes.
And I had to chuckle to myself a bit,
For others might not have tried.
It might have been the wrong one, but it was worth the fight.
As the sun had just set,
And the creek was rising,
I decided to float back along the way.
Holding my head above water,
Feeling the water’s sway.