reverb or

reverb or

ration myself of seconds & call the energy saved
in that lack of filling something of a blessing

i've tricked myself into having. i'm doing
very little. in my hands—a slackening of

the yokes i held to myself. what have i made of it now; now
i know of the tangibility of my body. i will lose it in a pool

40 degrees flat in a louisiana parish that echoes of
st. louis along the avenue of saints.

just before then i had never left & felt as if i were never going to—
i thought i had at long last lost the weight in the cargo load

of an american airlines & yet i felt a pronouncement
seize up & almost out of my throat

—i had never learned to float.
in an echo is a stagnant pool of space warming itself,

just as a line of mirrors turns green in the center &
rather than look below me into town

i ripple my feet in a claiming of space.