Seabodies

Naiad Maladies

Our hands divide and manipulate some raw-edged ruins
on an afternoon to wind and wheel about, you and a wet

Canteen, rushes, all the bent reeds and wadis until Khartoum

Side-glancing intimately, a perceived fault forms, from this springs,
From a pile of stones, slithering into the blue, serene beings

Otherwise grinning among the seascapes—rinse and repeat

Song of its silted leeriness choking of camel routes, yellow

Loess burying the so-called timeless peaks and valleys

Needless amplifications of the obvious now, but for the ether

Of entering it, turning up what is neither honest nor new...
Strained creek bed flecks off its light—a broken guitar all splinters
Strings embedded in what is being left to make decorative
Concrete, as I imagine some desolate beach awaits all
Petal-strewn sand dollars underfoot worked in razors and glass,
I cannot imagine us more a wreck apart, much less a week.