jungle currents

HE went there every rainy day, the mosquitoes wouldn’t thwart

HIS clothes they looked a well-pressed grey, his visits never short

HE went to remember something strong, a memory HE couldn’t forget

and yet the fibers of musty brain, they always strangled HIS intent.

So this day HE sat there even longer, refusing to not find HIS records

HE filed through those deeds HE’D done, destroying the haze wall with wreckers.

HIS cracking ball was the pain in HIS chest, a knowledge HE’D done something ugly

and so he came every moistened day to do all HIS deep mental juggling.

I came up close only slightly once, I needed to help HIM, if psychically

but HE noticed me haunt, and HE flailed at the air, and threatened me back, quite high-kickedly

Who knew HE could dance, such a quiet old man, who knew that HIS rivers flowed boldly?

I suppose HIS commitment to keep to that plan, on each tear-dropping day should have told me.