The Water Line
It was so much taking,
loop and drop through steel
pins and sliding waves,
that was done before I came,
That was done without a flicker
thought for me.
I was worse as ghost
than made flesh, coiling
from blank light of
morning dew starts, glinty
Metal shading for the worse-off
of the two days.
It rushed away, flowering
as hibiscus in fall, wilted
and leaving the bruise purple prose
in mouth and to tongue,
That I kissed in salt brine,
once, and for last time.
