you are standing down a nearhole when I touch the water, a mudness, haply nearing a drawl,

there are small frogs in choral unison—humming, singing vibrate just near the largest nerve

in your body, singing too, oh, gargling, the same nerve that does all of that killing thing,

mindly—I am more vibrant than I thought, racing away towards the spinal column 

before the class and the weather of the room can even begin to wrap me

 

I am glitch and water, wristing along the current, crackling—I find the slow, old glow 

of love in the branch’s curvature, on the concretion, grounded, girl is a dawn or a dusk             

everyday but only sometimes, however they don’t like to hitch these things too soon—your 

voice cracks as vagus nerves the shiver through the leaves the ground the edge of welfare

 

moulded, mounted, and hung to dry before being entirely whetted with meaning, 

respite wrapped in the earth it is all otherwise made of, morphstage where we just have to seek

the sun of reason—in all seasons even night there is a search for still breath, and echoes—if 

it is cool and the word is alone it is legible beyond a certainty, I am familiar with the heavens

though they won't take me back