All that burping.
Lost in the fuddle of an average sigh
The long leaves droop and touch the water
and winter weaves scars on the side of the boat
it passes under bridge and beside fields of sewn corn
Devoid, lilting at one end with weighed anchor
Arms rest on the sides, no body
Fingers trail in the passing liquid, no hand
Eyes watch as dust catches pieces of sun, no head
distance and sound falling from the mountain
into the echoing valley
distance and sound
carry into the clouds, fetid
under the horizon,
the irritating light flickers
secret signals from distant galaxies
and in your eyes begin tomorrows
unfolding as the light quells