Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the same way I'm forgiving of the politics of most of my fellow citizens.

Walking on Water

Postby jbrianlong » Wed Sep 29, 2004 11:27 am
I spend the change of my days
in the slick car bays, down hard
in the rust of the seeps.

But the gaskets I slap
neath the hood of the Dodge
drip drips to the lip of the pan,

and the pipe-sleeves I pin
to the cracks in the chassis
slip slack against the rack
where it’s split.

Nothing holds. All I touch

either weeps or it bleeds;

stops pop, gush sludge

at the brush of a wrist.

But then she plops in my lap,
damps a kiss at my neck, leaks
all this work with my hands
makes her wet; O,

she is sail, she is lee,
she is naiad and anemone;
in the cup of her hand
and the cleft of her breath

drift the low dream-sounds
of the sea. Let the o-rings
plip, let the petcocks spit,
let the pipes hiss grey
water snakes down the drain;

she treads the troughs and the scends,
waves a lull over the main;
she is Christ to my faith in me.

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