I saw his profile
and with it I turned
like a fish in a stream
he breathes down a beaten down
path
these paths are
quiet wise secrets
and his face is among
children's paintings, a smear

like I said, I hid
I hid my face
I hid my legs
like the bloodied soiled evidence
buried in underwear drawers

sometimes I go in over my
head
I trust your tides
I can swim fluently
my land
my county
my language
I am a master

Stupidly believing
that death is such a
far off debt to pay
when I see
your head in dawn's herald
skin a ghoulish blue
face an impish youth