Poem: Overturn

 

Overturn

 

does it rain when

the night-flesh of the city seems to sweat?

small glistens of spells

in the streets?

 

for even a moment,

could the wet dissolve our dry?

and in so doing, overturn

what seems like centuries?

 

maybe our skulls

could still hold water.

a tongue to sprout in each lonely cavern,

giddy with the truth, playful

 

as a river. 

 

you’d think it was Eden,

this outburst of succulence,

humans seduced once more by the fruit,

yet better off for it,

 

no longer starved 

for the dances of empathy

which would brim our eyes,

as we leapt in remorse, breaking

into the freedom of joy.

 

might we then proclaim,

to no one god, an exultant

hallelujah?

 

but no one here, 

despite miles of peopled space, 

will celebrate something 

that has less-than-occurred.

 

the wind takes a drag

on sparse weeds in the cracks,

and the old dust

wrapped around gutters of trash, 

 

and i look up, just to pretend,

and, yes, the water that dared to speak

is gone.

 

 

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