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Poseidon's Waters
Ash of my thought’s eyes fall like a view
from up high and the rain’s claws
become old songs playing scratchily
against stained panes of a glass vice—
I am only touched briefly, intangibly
and lifted out of myself with a tweezers pull
My ant-body separates like oil and water
leaving me to bleed a rainbow and swirl
Curling like a singed strand of hair, the fingers
of conch wombs let go, let me dilate in the wind’s arms
Sand melts me crystal clear and the ache is gone—
My welt-red newborn memories gasp in the dark for air.
NJP 2.12.03
