WASH

The rivers came rushing in

on a lovely, lonely night

down each hollow of my shoulders:

dying me blue, where wildness swims.

I felt that

a cold rush from the outside

taking ahold, syntax altered in waves:

words taking shapes that bump each other.

Tell me, how do I ungaze?

my words are tangled, I am heavy

tired of seeing the faces of many

short lived places.

They won’t wash:

the wildness splashes at my belly

their kindness drips all over me;

I wish they weren’t blue.