At the river’s edge I found him, Lantern dull as dying stars. “What do you carry?” he whispered, “What wounds, what names, what scars?” “Only the weight of leaving,” I answered, “Only the ache of what I’ve tried.” He nodded once. “Then step aboard, The fare is truth, not coin,” he sighed.

At the river’s edge I found him, Lantern dull as dying stars. “What do you carry?” he whispered, “What wounds, what names, what scars?” “Only the weight of leaving,” I answered, “Only the ache of what I’ve tried.” He nodded once. “Then step aboard, The fare is truth, not coin,” he sighed.