I don’t feel you. I am
I am wet.
I drift, slip, float, flood.
I percolate. I penetrate.
But not with pride.
I sip, lap, suck.
I will swallow you.
I don’t mean anything by it. And I don’t obsess.
I inundate. I drain.
Course through anything, disperse everything.
I go in, I go out.
Mud wavering, glistening.
White, blue, gray surfaces, shining.
Over, under black
I have no curiosity. No scruples.
I don’t give a rip.
You envy me my unselfconsciousness!
You use me for your transformations. Revelations.
I make sound not to thrill you or to calm you.
I don’t see you.
And I don’t feel sorry. I don’t feel.
I have no torments to unravel.
And heaven knows I am
I rise, reach, fall.
Not ravening, not insatiable. No greed.
No hunger at all.
I carry, pool, swim.
I do destroy, but not with a vengeance.
God said build a boat.
God said he would flood the wicked world. I had nothing to do with it.
You call me menace, you call me peace. My god,
You don’t have a clue.
If I laughed, I would be laughing.
I have seen so much shit. So many tires.
I torrent and I scour!
I wrap your sopping mattresses around cottonwood trees.
I soak. I sodden. I silt.
I don’t know death, fear death.
I know pale green swollen bodies.
I know rocks in pockets.
I know fish, alive, alive, oh and belly up.
If I loved
I would be loving
my otter sliding and plunging.
Deer dipping, spooning, little pink tonguing. Secreting salamanders. Waterbugs.
And ancient great blue heron! Patient.
Louise Bourgeois wrote, “To unravel a torment you must being somewhere.”
In his Notebooks, Leonardo da Vinci described flooding rivers as insatiable, greedy, and ravening.