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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