Everything that concerned you was a picture on the internet,
Or something even thinner:
A cold rim of steel, a wallet of rewards points,
A boarding pass.
The water hole is the healthiest voice
You’ve heard since the cry of Mary’s geese.
Every day the drag of the current brings you to the river bed,
Tells you that you don’t need a faux gold mirror to find yourself.
Reminds you of the good part of that headline you once read in the stars,
About your size in the vastness of things.
Suggests that you lean in and listen to something without an end.
Amid the shag of moss.
Amid the wood-rot.
Amid the wet that weeps with shadow,
It brims to your existence.
As if your body was an empty arc,
It gifts you with two of every living thing.
As if love was resonating through the hollow of its larynx
And could save you from the flood.