~
I cast my net
                  into the tributary

and release into you, a seasonal swim,

I give to you a mother's color,
        as you recite
        infant hymns,

                    you're a bleeder
on the days sunfire meters out its origin,
                    you're my river

free and clear from the grip

      of anchorage,

                         my river,

drifted on to wherever
                       moon wishes glister
~

~
Sheltered within her cryochamber, the offspring of Armageddon dreams of play. She swims in an algal bloom that no longer stings like jellyfish. She floats on the surface of content, far removed from the synthetic sea and its plastic isles. She dwells in a bubble, but her mind hangs free as a halo, soaring with clouds. But these are not the skies that sense their own act of vandalism. This is the space and ceiling of a child's mind, in her capacity to absorb disturbance and rest her tiny, fragile hope in pretended, unclaimed worlds.
~

Leaving the tribe, away from the ally
On the abstract ground
Creating the separation, leaving addiction
In the fence of consciousness.

Hearing irony, taking all the blame
In a three-way pain
Measuring on what scale, in pressed utterance
In the past grief.

Whom to tell, which way to go
Can't find direction
In the lap of darkness, the day fell
Covered in the darkest night.

Tried to liberate, making the statement
But keep on running
Among the appraisal, remain waiting
On the muddy shores of the river.