Rhythms

I sweep my brow
and cleanse my mind
and pretend I have your attention
but my voice is an octave below what counts
and I shake in indecipherable rhythms

There is a froth in your wake
that settles on the shore
like forgotten chapters
in a book of fables
lessons that I'll never learn

You watch me while half submerged
turtle eyes ready to duck
and find comfort in the murk
where the truth need not be clear
but reason fights for air

And of course I love you
a singular preference
amid a multiplicity of desires
even when I have nothing to give you
but understanding and resolve