Wet, green, gravel in my shoes
and drips in my hair,
full of chlorophyll and light and smell of
earth sweating into it’s sap –
and I am failing to be alive.
Rocks, trees, rivers.
pools of brown suds and floating leaves
and the eager pull of river sludge over
beaten out of shape by too much water and too much
running over them,
until they lay down and shut their eyes,
their own weight pulling them under.
I think about what my hands might find,
falling gently into cold sludge;
bones, fish, flowers –
Virginia, did the water taste bitter?
did it sting your eyes in the end?
I am hot with sickness,
blocked up with failure.
I feel heavy enough today.