Why We Swim

Why We Swim

Because there are pockets of the planet
that are undiscovered,
or have not been changed in our looking at them

Because we can bring oxygen with us,
and trust our bodies to carry it

Because hands can approximate fins

Because the water's surface seen from underneath
becomes a new sky

Because we are grateful for permeability
and submergence

Because this place has shown to us
time, how we belong within its lungs like breath

The Bridge-Builder

The Bridge-Builder

I need to get from shore to shore,
to cross the water as a biped,
the bridge-builder says.

The bridge-builder sees water
as a source of dissatisfaction,
wishy-washy terrain.

The bridge-builder assembles a crew:
men unafraid of moving in air,
the water's canopy

too far to protect them from a fall;
engineers who know the limits
of concrete and of steel.

The bridge-builder convinces the world
that they need a road by pointing across
at the opposite shore. Over

there, life is waiting for you.
If that doesn't work, the line becomes
They need us, over there.

Jump In

Jump In

I.
I am about to jump into the lake,
trees and heat stockstill all around me
while I draw air into myself
in response to a hunger for abandon,
abandonment.

II.
You are about to jump into the lake,
a study in anticipation.
You shut your eyes
as you had been taught--
lakewater will make a mess of your vision.

III.
He is about to jump into the lake,
heart leaned out over the edge
of what he has not yet
identified as joy, a
wetness in the chest.

Bingo

Bingo
A Responsive Reading

Within this basket there are numbers corresponding to nothing.
A hand chooses the number, a voice affixes
the digit to a sound. Even within this linguistic nonsense there is order.

Hear my voice, the way each phrase dips in intonation as it ends.
The paired sounds are not questions, nor are they commands.
I listen, and consult the boxes on the page.

Hear each letter and number that I have called out. Draw your
eyes down within each column, and seek the digits that have been announced.
Were these columns buildings, they would be five stories
high, each with transparent windows.

Do not speak, nor ask questions. Your task is to listen, to observe
your card watchfully.
All language is a code. There is a pattern waiting to be uncovered.
The numbers want to be played with, to dance.

Transcribe what you hear. Let your card bloom, piece by piece.
Colored circles appear on my card, like bubbles summoned
in boiling water by the heat from beneath.

Trust that your lines will become complete, one line, at least.
Strong is the voice that will ring out amongst us,
strong in the mouth, strong in the throat.

Matters

Matters

As in, material.
Plural.

Enigmatic content
of brains,

unlit outer space.
As in,

this is significant,
weighty.

Sudden certainty,
meaning

placed, pointed to.
As in,

to be taken into one's
own hands,

owned, held within
my grasp,

a cupped moth still
flying.