Let us drift down river you and I
On the flood, effortlessly
We’ll sweep beyond the places we passed
When we rowed upstream adventurously
We’ll slow and look aghast at the over-hanging branches
The Tacksman’s tree at last is hanging lifelessly
The bark on its back ripped-off like rags and flowers
Nakedly searching for a soteriology
Lest we shake our heads and wonder why
Rather we should cry and laugh at all this madness
Fated and blessed to explore like virgins, our
(while the others stayed safe and ashore)
surging sinners’ nemesis, consumed by flood
Drifting downstream on that river of love