What He's Always Known by Brian Rihlmann


he’s had a half dozen tries at it
at the summit
the pinnacle of human life
reaching toward that place
where all their fingers
have pointed
(always away from their own hearts)

a half dozen stretches
of a year or more
—and lately 

three to five between—
gone with the wink
and mischievous smile
of a master illusionist 

it’s enough
to finally realize
what he’s always known 

he still feels the pull
the whispers of currents
as he wades across
but his feet stay planted

he walks away
from mountain peaks
ice-capped through long winters
shivering in summers
with too-brief bursts
of fragile flowers huddled close
to thin and rocky soil

toward level ground
a desert plain thirsty for tears
where no puddles survive
like reflecting pools
to mirror a smile
or a frown

their meaning fading
into sandstorm obscurity 

©2019 Brian Rihlmann


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Brian Rihlmann was born in NJ, and currently lives in Reno, NV. He writes mostly semi autobiographical, confessional free verse. Folk poetry…for folks. He has been published in Constellate Magazine, Poppy Road Review, Cajun Mutt Press, The Rye Whiskey Review and has an upcoming piece in The American Journal Of Poetry.


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