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.
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