To a lost love (poem)

I remember when the river, in flood,
carried me like a coracle fast downstream,
lifted above the murk by the force of motion.

not so long ago, it seems, depositing me
in the sea of the world, stars glaring fire on my back
every barbaric yawp tasing me into response, every pain
dragging soundbites in furious streams

the seduction of the illusion
that to talk in 140 characters is to taste truth
that to give and receive *hugs* and easy emoticons
is to give, and receive, love.

such a river. a life-force, almost,
a carrier of intent, a shapeshifter of purpose
only words on screens, but what else is there, for meaning
for we sentient postmoderns and the future that is here

a hive mind, or no, not that -
a megaphone for the masses.
I should love the democracy of that, the egalitarian energy,
the immediacy, the power -
I do.
I did.
I really did.

but all the power, all the rage, all the hearts and smiles
all the urgent need to check in, all the time spent unbottling
all of it left me - tired? Perhaps, spent.
a little sickened, mostly with myself
ashamed, too, of the time stolen from pursuits of creation
(of both the humankind and wordkind)
and fed to this maelstrom of a thing

what is left when love, but not longing, is gone?
what, when the fear is that even sometimes means inevitable all-times
what then?

(loves that make you heartsick, says my friend the philosopher,
can only be resolved two ways: Accept your malaise, embrace it, become it,
or cut it away entire.
there are no halfway houses for sad, dark love; no medicines to heal it whole).

so foolish, this; to write a poem about love
when it's not about love at all. (there's another word, starts with an ...)

so foolish, I; to try to twist words around it, make it complicated,
when really I know what I ought to do. (But not whether I will do it).

so here in this wine-dark sea I sit, my bark coracle afloat
and hope I will recognise the sun, when it comes.

- Kathy, 21/7/13