I say, only water can be water. I am made
mostly of water. This cannot be.
The banks gave way and left the river no choice,
it swelled as we leaned steeply into one another.
tree and mud lurked on the sisal rug. The lately furious
river murmured back into her banks, a sad moon
watching. Dining chairs have floated away
and beds are being burned. Every place is washed
by a river’s desire to embrace the impossible.
The dust she leaves behind hushes and whispers
in the lungs. I wash in and drink the water,
sipping bits of the river, in my own way.
Rise up and purify.” As if I could rise over cornfields
and float into the trees or derail trains and wash cottages
away leaving the grass astounded like this.