has spilt itself

            along the crust of the earth

 

left-over pools

            gather

            and stream toward the edges

            of the roof.

 

The water insists on returning,

            carving long sentences in the dirt,

            or repeating

            itself

            gradually

            along the rims of asphalt and rock.

 

In the dark,

            I worry

            at the myths

            and imagination            

            that held us ...

 

seeking vulnerability

            where strength

gave way

            to frayed understandings,

 

                        a single fatal flaw in the fabric

                        of our story

or many illegible wounds

too numerous to bind?

 

I am captivated by the rush

of water,

the rush

of self...

a twinning of instincts

 

a reconciliation

 

of past

and present

tense.