I am holding a river and sleep through the night.
I forget how it is that we met:
in short, it flows down the bank,
freely down into the street, overflowing elevators,
coming to my room. A river,
its outline flowing and fat but
with a collarbone, a meandering stream
but all full of nimble fish—
the river stays in all day but
still cannot sleep at night, just now
holding it softly, while it hears my speech about
the ocean a thousand miles away, about the secular world
a thousand miles away. Very quickly it’s at hand,
every drop of water closes up the eyes,
in the brain every swimming fish becomes
as calm as the stars are. I forgot
I was holding its soft waves
sleeping through several generations. I wake up
pull open the window curtains to see
the gorgeous and meandering river
inside the sunshine flowing down with reciprocal love.
