Only lizards ferry a boat across the river 
       keeping an eye on the distant shore
How many women have requested 
       to be taken back. To begin again—

to be thrust into the tentacles of remembrance—
       such a thankless mission, they surmise.
Where did I come from at the beginning 
       The trick—how after the first

sip of mother’s milk, it is virtually
       impossible to return to all-encompassing
nothingness. The hope—that butterflies 
       will always swarm multicolor

orange, vermillion, calico, not to mention
       disappearing blue-violet, on the cusp 
of the distant horizon. At the helm,
       the lizard blinks with one slow eye.