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Skirmish

purging half-sleep half-death
half-born baby of rain—all drain— drown

wet motion mythologies—

aguish wounded grackle screams—
dove dreams, kiss of the crazy
man cooing

aligerous stasis:
when the basis of all cycles sleeps, ask
what keeps the current flowing, the merchant going, the ground growing
wrinkles—worn women—torn women—women who bleed
water, the river their only record: a deep lurching flood
of names and unfound flesh.

poem by Indigo Hawkins
Added by Poetry Lover
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