by Christina Murphy
It would be here, the light soaring,
A late frost browned the early peonies.
All day rain seemed woven into air, imminent
The difficult way—wet air, rain oncoming.
Some water travels underground
In rivers that flow for miles
Think of it this way as
In the almost ever present.
The water running off our skin
As we rise from the steaming bath
On and off, holding us in that stillness between
Everything gets around—a poison we all drink from
No other ending, no law but this one
Consider history as a cloud or the spread of roots
A dream of water, the surface swept
What new world is this?
*This poem is composed of first lines from Section I and last lines from Section II of the poems by James McCorkle in Evidences.