Saturday, April 27, 2013

The Flood

The Flood

the play of water

the trickling lights

worries the bones

whips and whirls

solidly conducts

your fossil self...

if we could only move

if we could only breathe

if this were not water:

a gentle breeze

a playful melody, the rustling of hair

not the embalming grasp

not the deep resounding bass: bohm! bohm!

but air

the mere semblance of it

the end of drownings: freedom

but there is only water

and i fear the ship cannot hold.

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