River-flow
June, 2021

I would like to see

in this dry blind country

water run beneath

a bridge, a river heading

somewhere, maybe to the sea.

And I would like to go.

Take me like that broken

branch, plastic bag,

newborn discarded,

rushing toward the sea

content to float along

together. This after all

is the world I once

inhabited, ate from

and lived off, ignorant

of woe, but made

of the same stuff. Water

wings and blind eyes will

find the way to heaven.

Or to hell. God is

an equal transportation

provider, fluid as water.