from the earth’s scalp,
tangled in what is still rooted.
still salt tainted. Boats of all sorts
moored but at midday nothing afloat.
the remnants, graphing lines
above the dull-eyed river.
of the river: a current that pushes
forward, away from the known.
it’s source. The quiet whisper
beneath ground that worries up.
marking a path slowly, the cursive
of bare earth as it is revealed over time.