... and it's hard to remember that there is water moving in other places of the world. These photos are from another time and place and season.
I woke up early last week. Night was still hanging onto everything and I wrote this:
I move apart -
joints floating away from their sockets,
skin draped with flails of muscle rippling,
blood has to move a mile from my hands to my heart,
cells orbit slowly around bones.
My dreams are fire far off in the distance
and wolves who pull animal noises from my throat.
Even the moon follows me here,
its path a twisted helix along the horizon.
My stomach turns over.
The body knows.