The water sparkles,

Shimmers

Like a broken dream

Taunting

Tantalizing 

Tempting

Yet unreachable

A tangible thing

That which can be grazed by fingertips,

Yet never firmly grasped

Always just out of reach

She rows her small vessel

Toward that luring spark

Yet it dances away

Once again

So that all around her

Is still water's glassy surface of mirrors

A face looks at her 

Eyes that have seen

Beauty

Pain

Fear

Love 

Death.

Many wrinkles,

Lines

Telling stories,

Tales

Of days

Weeks

Months

Years

So many years,

So many tales

Wooden paddle breaches the surface

Ripples distort

Tales are erased

Eyes swim

Before they are gone

Another glimmer

Excitement for a future

Said to be so much better

But when the bow is upon it,

There is only murky water

The only spark within reach

Is the one that hides under the surface

Where you are, not where you will be

It can be grasped if only you try.

A lined hand,

Skin stretched thin over blue veins

Reaches into the water

Grasps the spark

Paddles to shore

All her life pulses in the spark

She watches,

Tears in those ancient eyes

And when it ends she sees.

She sees that there was

Something in every moment

She sees that she has helped, healed,

Loved, lost, and learned to love again

Succeeded and failed

She sees that she has lived

Far more than many do

She finds a grove of pines

A bed of rust colored needles

And lays down

She is ready

She is still

She is going

Home.