The flash
of light and dark fishes
won't reach my feet.
They will flop
from the water flinging
droplets toward my lightfurred mammal
skin, spattering
eloquent reminders
of when I lived in salt water.
Up through
damaged banana leaves, across
the slatted floors of stilted houses,
the water
rises
tugging at my toenails.
It wants what I want: union.
Or so I say
until my legs can stretch
no further, and it
retracts its proffered hand.
1 comment:
even if it's "scribbled" or unfinished (a la your fb), it's still got you and lovely (synonymous) all over it. i'm glad you're still writing and i hope it's providing some depth if not union...
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