End up jumping over tall, steel gates.
Which really should be no cause for alarm,
The flood of the muddy river is too shy
To lap the running mouths of our shoes.
No darkness but the hue of the golden sand,
Dirty and trashy like a fairy. Suddenly
I can see the landing: the off-limits balcony
Where we watch the ripples for a soft swan.
Barges drag beneath bridges, trumpeting.
Sand chokes beneath rising water rising,
Water like white fire, that you can neither taste
Nor see, only feel it wrung out once everything's
Landed. One story resuscitates my pride,
Withering like the wing of a looping bat.
Next time I'll be sure to bring a lighthouse.
Keep one in my pocket, a totem of reason.
After all, this is the most dangerous season,
Where boys with hours and a carton of flowers
Run through water at the mention of your name.
No comments:
Post a Comment