Rowing

In life’s little rowboat, ferrying us across

to an unknown destination or just a leisurely pursuit,

we face where we come from, looking backwards,

pulling the oars to propel us forward,

our backs and shoulders thrown into it,

repeated and rhythmic, over and over, steady.

And moving along a sight line drawn straight

from here to there, a glance over our shoulders

shows us off track, heading astray, tossed

by waves rising up or a weak oar’s pull,

turning us aside. So we right ourselves,

sight a new line or, perhaps, take a chance

and risk where the boat will take us, as it will,

arriving on another shore, in time, due time,

facing backwards and rowing ahead to this other shore,

arriving and, returning, coming home again.