Sitting alongside the young Journey River,
Our heads cleanly-shaven,
We have given our glory to the waters.
Our tears are old and gray.
Temporarily blinded by this need for eternity.
Their bodily perfume runs along its banks.
Taken away with Rosehips and Hibiscus,
We have come once more to cross.
We come for the elders who desire to go home in the middle of the Journey.
For the babies born in the high tides while we sit.
Grooming prayers made in river-soot,
Laughing with moaning visions
The end is not yet.