i smell wet forest floor and see my reflection is not still

i understand now that the world cries too

the pool quivered silver
rain running down her
hair continuous.

face in reverse reflection,
the water her azure
abode and sheet of
her bedroom window

silver her home quivered,
olive branch knocking at
door, rain running down
her cheek

her pool a lacuna,
rain livery slippery sadlessness
laugh at superimposition and
the surface stops its scintillation
and is still and there she is again,
porcelain and ageless as the moon

dusty velvet flowers next to bed
petals wither inward
gentle note of papery death
still reaching toward window light
water brown under through stem
alive as clear vase
in forgotten corner

we were on a beach
you wore purple
i wore blue
the water was warm and salty

you yelped in pain
and i pushed through the water
because you stepped on a sea urchin
so i kissed you better
but i yelped in pain
i stepped on it too
so you kissed me better
then we went to a diver
and he reassured us
so we laughed

i have composed another song
that will not be sung

i have one eye in this world
one eye in another
not an if-world
but a spilled space
that rips itself apart,
an otherwise world
where be-languages
fall apart in boundlessness
and do-languages melt.
i have no mouth there
where i sleep and fall into the lake
and i don’t float.
i don’t know how to swim
in there
but i know how to weave
and dig up my walls.
boundary walker, where is your wolf?

an ocean of words
wants to flow through
my throat and
pour out of my lips
into you