Where is the boatman?

Where is the boatman?

A crowd of people

Are waiting for the crossing,

Without a bridge

The river is as wide as an ocean.

In the distance an old man

Braves the waters

In a Coracle.

Little children chase Butterflies,

So many of them flutter by

All at once,

Scott free souls,

In summer clothes

And no shoes.

They smell of honey

And apple blossom

As light on their feet as dancers.

There is a moment of clarity

When the answer is on the tip

Of my tongue

Just to be stolen by a blackbird

With an evil eye

For an easy mark

The reason for the waiting

Lost in the irrational

Part of my soul

The anima

Is less than whole

When isolated from

The feminine part of the psyche

And my animus is on the other side

Perhaps it is the enforcement

Of separation

That has exposed

The need for reunion.

Making good

Is in the foreground

Of my personal gestalt

As in this musing

I am in desperate need of reform

Equilibrium

And a boatman.