Reincarnation:
a proof
In time, or out
of it, the moment
is water, and ice
is steam in love’s
cupped hand.

          Remembering
this, I make my
way.
          Season
to season. One
life to the next.

          With this,
I have no argument.
Why argue with
winter, cold
fingers, warm
breath?

 

Growing Up
Many tongues were spoken. They travelled
The length of your name, and you learned
Their wet language. The tides between
Your legs, the rivers that began like
Waves of something incommunicable,
Found a voice.
                                 You became the stone,
and the ripples.
                                 They called it coming,
but saw only their own reflection.
                                                             Even
The shallowest water, when it is
Still, is unfathomable. Even silence
Is a lie, when it needs be.