Give up your penchant for making sense

when into braided water you step, heavy pocketed

indeed, reason exists within envelope of glued attempts

pick the short straw, watch it bend into a ship

gliding like spilt milk on your wayward glance

you, the one who had pulled trees from earth

thinking if you carried my soul in your locket

the water would never rise and take us both

breathless beneath deluge

still it is the vagaries of repair

stitching borders with ill-taught savagery

the only nimble thing I possessed was the memory

of your words leaning into the whirl of my ear

like a symbol I could see

even as my eyes were closed tight

against the leaning curvature of the world