walks through a labyrinth of liquid.
The mazes of the air are filled with liquid, slick with information.
She walks through water.
She leaves a wake of time, a contrail of fragrance and
hesitation.





What a river this was, in flood, obliterating, a different thing,
a tidal rise, moonless, painful, wild with loss.
It might have been different,
floods accomodated by a maze of wetlands, beaches intact, falls giving way to pools.
I do not understand this melting of snowfields in a glaring sun.







I do not understand the complex liquid shift of seasons.
Why must we drown again and again,
swim vainly through undertow and riptide,
caught in clamorous surprise
by desert turned riparian, riverine, oceanic?



What laps like tidal light, swamping shadows?
What holds liquid heat?
What races like a thief through tangles of thinnest wire?



Sugars thunder through magnetic fields like Turkish warriors dancing a fandango.
We’re alkaloid junkies, wild with aldehydes.
We’re all shear and the tensile strength of hazy acoustic waves.
Give us cellular plasmas! Give us overtones and static!
Give us fluids under pressure!
Look, some gather bemused around invisible fires.
Some fires burn in deepest water. Some are tycoons, rolling in amino acids.



This is assembled from a maze of bright shards,
a puzzle with circular edges, a sphere of metallic planets.


There is a foundation of laughter connecting,
as geometry connects crystalline molecules.
Is this a story with traversable contours?
What is temporal becomes a cellular nest of string dolls and is made eternal.
Why is this?
Every instant spawns an infinite riffle of cards,
a single molecular veneer, a single face, on every one.



What soil stamps the bottom of feet with such particular resonance?
Is it an overtone of the air as it combs through such trees as breathe village music?
Or is it language shaping the melodic contours of our connecting musics?
Are vowels scales?
Are consonants the heartbeat of rhythm?



What lies in the mouth moves the hand,
what passes between glides the feet.
What are the notes in our common skin?



There is no discontinuity in matter.
No one is separate.
The same gravitational coefficients spin within all.
Molecules dance a Brownian dance on fingertips.
There is an orbital correctness here. A geologic imperative.
Magma intrudes in bedrock.
Vertebral beings become artesian wells of impossible moisture.







She walks through a maze of liquid.
The labyrinth of the air is filled with liquid, slick with information.
She walks through water.
She leaves a wake of time, a contrail of fragrance and
hesitation,
as she


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