that flowed behind
in ringlets of finger-points
directing eyes to this stairwell
that corner even beneath the bed
in the ark
where the ocean waited
as patiently as winter sap
mother floated into my dreams
wearing hessian denials
toenails scrapping the heart’s walls
drawing a chorus of could-be’s
to paint the floor
footprints glowing into the gaps
between her eyelids
she is still alive
living somewhere out beyond the atolls
salt-crusted
eyes searching horizons
for mushrooms and lightning strikes
in my boat of suits and shirts
I search for her
untangling ties that strangle
and a briefcase with teeth
as sharp as a river’s edge
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