Confluence

I’ve been here before, dreaming myself backwards, among grappling hooks of light. True to the seasons, I’ve lived every word spoken. Did I walk into someone’s nightmare? Hunger quivers on a fleshly string at the crossroad. So deep is the lore, there’s only tomorrow today where darkness splinters & wounds the bird of paradise. On paths that plunge into primordial green, Echo’s laughter finds us together. In the sweatshops of desire men think if they don’t die the moon won’t rise. All the dead-end streets run into one moment of bliss & sleight of hand. Beside the Euphrates, past the Tigris, up the Mississippi. Bloodline & clockwork. The X drawn where we stand. Trains follow rivers that curve around us. The distant night opens like a pearl fan, a skirt, a heart, a drop of salt. When we embrace, we are not an island beyond fables & the blue exhaust of commerce. When the sounds of River Styx punish trees, my effigy speaks to the night owl. Our voices break open the pink magnolia where struggle is home to the beast in us. All the senses tuned for the Hawkesbury, labyrinths turning into lowland fog. Hand in hand, feeling good, we walk phantoms from the floating machine. When a drowning man calls out, his voice follows him downstream.