riding on migrations of previous knots
felting the air, it all opens through a constant iris-shifting.
the wind is wielding itself more recklessly these days.
the surface suffers its own illnes -- a constant questioning.
rigid swells ignite every warped curve into plundering white water.
a weary traveler is a favorite of mine.
reflections of sky and boat.
a water costume consumes its weight in lies.
water charts encounter inventions of sleep.
we count the stiches anew each morning.
the swelling of water and skin, an ancient sister design of water costume.
it will be known that wind and water have found
refuge when the singular wire of sun has traced its root
back to oblong regions of frequent absence and uncharted winter.
may this refuge alleviate numb consonants on tongues and withered collar bones
from sleep-stained accounts of water-rot and scorbutic thought
until all is lost, weather-scarred and not.
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