I drink the river dry
gallons galleons all crescendo

running I can't get       close. I remember
weekends at the Y practicing drowning

and taste cigarettes when I look
at you, the malcontent bleeding over

wearing out the certainty
of your hand in mine,

divorced          from one country of thoughts
to better commune with the possible.

Do you still have wonder? Know that
submarines reconstitute themselves

above water. I watch the ships arrive
in paintings, waving,              waving.

__

I was listening to a lot of [Tchaikovsky] at the time I wrote this piece.