float

 

Who is responsible for the remembering?

not our minds, gone in lucid serpentines 

down the San Rafael: temporary, paradisial.

 

I seek a deeply rooted branch

a firm grasp on the slick banks 

of today's lazy, shivering current.

 

I want to run aground, stand on solid ground

I want to stand bare-toed in emery clay

I want to learn the names of all the flowers.

2019.

© grace whatley, 2020

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