on the river

your small boat,
peacock blue,
plastic, eight feet long,
but long enough
for you to sit in
with legs
extended. your carbon
oars, your
life jacket,
your compartment
to keep things dry.
you push off into the river.
no map, no plan.
the sun is low
in the morning.
your day is before you
as you leave everything
you know on dry land,
each stroke you row
belongs to you,
your life is just
beginning, again.