how could I not be here, in this moment
watching the other bank
and seeing myself beside my ghost
I could not miss this birth, a bubbling
celebration as wide as geology
space, I tell my ghost
is spacious, it is not empty at all
just a thin water, where the two of us can wade in its mossy arteries casting a black gnat, waltzing the rod, mending our line we let our fingers read the buoyant forms, it’s the beauty of an esophagus, oxygen rolling rapids, the slow flow flagellating the smoothest stones I have a strange power, just lying there with my ghost, a perfect rainbow zipping my mud rigid muscles storm clouds stagger over the valley a final twitch sets the hook the catch in my valves flops from the net my ghost, grips it through my chest the filament unspools, our wilderness is at hand, I pass it off the water breaks over us my ghost is wet and new
What a fascinatingly intricate situation, with fishing and rebirth interwoven.
ReplyDeletewhat an intriguing poem. a great renewal for your ghost, yeah? what a brilliant write.
ReplyDeleteThis is interesting. I've re-read it several times and have a few different interpretations.
ReplyDeleteHaving a strange power come with the responsibility to use it wisely.
ReplyDelete