My Euphrates

Under patch­work the color of cow­ardice: our vil­lage. Fall. We are wired to lie.

Detec­tors: also known as vocal cords. The minute I said it I knew it was true.

I needn’t need you / to need to be with you. End­lessly roam­ing o’er the earth’s face.

Thus begins our query. Would the brave youth warn the tribe of glare ice, on returning?

I’d sequenced through—and was through, with the sea­sons; couldn’t cease to seek closure.

Any more / than can up and shift the river. (Would our ances­tors, given time, have tried.

To cor­rect) the stark lack of con­trast (the cataract between us) between ‘set­ting sun’ and strike.

The set—arose the feel­ing I was bleed­ing out of phys­i­cal neces­sity: a newly-dyed garment.

Into long-faded laun­dry, with an infant’s rash locu­tions of believ­ing I have everything.

To lose. One man’s heart felt shot / in the dark, may appear kaleidoscopic—in turns.

And in turns, sim­ply bro­ken: appro­pri­at­ing oxy­gen, appro­pri­at­ing heat: a band of fireflies.

Ignit­ing agate-blue inside a glass case, The Red—see: black logic—a sus­pended stream.

Of con­scious­ness, ‘til hunger bade the frozen mouth open. Luke­warm. Nature is to nurture.

And aught implies can: so unquench­able poten­tial, if all in the wrist—must flash.

Over: from a fire in the for­est to “for­est fire” (from the trees to the wood.)

From “the man” to “the empire”—if I were your mother, when the flame was.

Still young, would you have sung: what would I do with a kingdom?