*

You wash this floor the way winter

waits for its ice to stir

show more interest in coming closer

 

and the drowned --what bubbles up

is bottom sand though you drift

and further out more water

 

unable to dry so far from home

--a single drop by drop

wipes down the world and longing

 

--it’s how you sleep

leaking from your pores

this side then that breaking open

 

holding on to each other and now

without shape, making it through

as surfaces and nearer.

 

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