ConfluencePoems are the rhythm of breathing-words of friction and flow.Like water impeded by river bouldersthat wraps around, slides under, glides over.A collection of nasal, sibilant, and plosive bursts, caesuras where voids are filled, thoughts are connected-the spaces in which we feel.We are close, butnot fully harmonious-like slant rhyme.Yet I feel an internal rhymewhich flows through my heart-grist for my mill.I do not wish to grind you, but float in your river.Bathe me in your emotion.Unite us as author and readerof perceived and reasoned balance, not to be divided as on a seesawof pain and ho