River, I cling to you
murky mirage
slow, scintillating curves
Limbless lover,
all body with a soft spot
for seedy cities
Boot in the mud,
unsown
I used to come to you
at dusk, watch you sidle up
lick little rocks mixed with beer tabs and butts
Sky flushes, dips behind the tall hedge, rolling
Gauze of grey-blue smoke
Shore up your lullabies
tired tapping on wood
jet skis rubbing out streams on your skin
tipsy slosh over the bar’s bobbing black hull
parking lot fragments in a plastic box
Here there is no water, only rock
No swimming, no drinking, no rite or ritual
From above, I imagine how the desperate will die
bones crushed against concrete,
an ebb catching the light
This article appears in March 2014.
