something milked & my tummy rumbles

I haven’t seen the sea in so long. I read

somewhere that sand is carried by river

a product of endless watery movement

but let me not be a thing that carries

or is carried but a hand grasping air

stooping to dig at the surface that

gurgles & leaks & never says anything.

that day I was learning the river for the

last time & I noticed ‘Fritz’ spray painted

on concrete, the sound of frying seeds

like a whiplash of wind named before it

hurts & everyone walked possessed.

somewhere, upstream, I hear that pepper

trees shed salmon leaves & the marsh

is a sinkhole, a blinking cyclops of thin light

but here, I nest inside the distance of a

thing carried & how faintly the water coos.