half-submerged in water, i lie & watch the stars commute.
my eyes do not remember that the ground has drunk its fill
and try to make their trickling tributes both at once.

neurons aching from disuse, will i grow roots? when will i
germinate? my planting time has passed, yet still i
rot and stagnate here– i fear this puddle waxes brackish.
i will not survive the year.