Anticipation.
Dark rituals:
through gaskets, we are birthed.
geese in the duckweed, green
ducks in the lemna, the slave built the limnion
of stagnant rushes, and shallow mud
[kanał] a noun.
no olympus on the water, just
rocky eddy turns and
microsurfs, a parade of:
ZEALOTS
I will break my bread at
the edge of the river,
greeting dawn where few have tread or swam,
and the eagle will break it with me, and in this
breaking we will also be
reborn.
błask. the sharp red dawn over
pointed river surface
what you see
may not matter compared to
the deeps’ stealthy teeth.
against great slumber and waters’ uphill return
I against I.
calm before the plunge, oceanic side surfs
over where the light don't shine.
goddamn apes. munched.
the sycamore seeds pillow among
old blast holes, and angled stone wreckage
protecting the outfall.
life collects
at the high water line.
in traffic, it’s all savagery, no rules nor decency
just cold blooded power plays - squinting into the sun
past the baby’s windowshade.
over the buried creek bed \
I will drink the water and
hang me out to dry.
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