in flux, rising

By | 15 May 2023

in a room, rising
water invades
our fear, the sky

weeps, in the home
on the carpet
at our knees.

before I go, the mother
tells her child
of this world

in which you must go on.

in time
capsules of dark
dewy rain

forests, the night
-jars sleep
in familial

warmth felt
over oceans
where fishers spit

lines in the Tagus’
mouth, a promised
sea reneged

of vow, bereft
of bacalhau
knowing even

fish slip shades
of decades –
time means nothing

when you’re on the run.

her name, rising
with the weight
of tears

like hooks
in tongues
of rivers

searching flood
-plains with a final,
salivating thirst.

come, Mother

destined as
flit wayward

across heating
isles, their gaudy
wings exhumed

as she sits
wet, wrung

how quickly water rises

levees split
like fissures
of dry

in a past

how quickly water rises

to your last

as jiving bull
-kelp rise,
then vanish

pencil pines
snow gums
mountain ash

rise, then vanish

to oblivion in sun
-bathers stretched
across boulevards

of beaten dunes
clawed by

of the sea
in flux, rising.

not this time, Boy

for there will
always be

yet, some
things remain
static, steadfast

like a mother’s
inside her child

beating brazen
as an auburn
dawn, rising.

move, rise

with the water
with the world

in which you must go on.

This entry was posted in 109: NO THEME 12 and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

  • No Related Posts Found

Comments are closed.