HUMAN, DOWNWELLING  

Water, moving flecks of lapis, pushing

forward the minnow crowds

that try to move it round, make it

form to flesh, a gel we push against,

the azury center bending. This can hurt,

when molecules stick

like souvenir gems, coins or nails

we catch on. Mostly I am

drowsy in the river, my desire washes

out, veins empty of a pulse, foreign current,

flat as moons you don’t believe in.

I enjoy the reassurances of water,

a language-promise

moving me, as I am pulled

into the gold mosaic of a wall,

consumed, enameled: my flesh

bleeds noiselessly,

everything is still and spilling on,

spills through me, my eyes keyholes.

I am awake, briefly. The wind is not

headless, but singing on rivers, pushing

the whisper, the sound of passing,

in oscillations, some kind of air in a fit,

the rush of an urgent voice.