Restless, relentless, rushing,
throbbing, breathing,
somehow silent still
but pulsing…
the blood in my heart
is the black water of the glades,
circulating, stirring up silt
and sea creatures and summer memories
I feel the movement most
lying perfectly still
my back on a wooden raft
unmoored but to memory.
Something slithers in the sawgrass,
animal instinct begs alertness to danger,
but the smell of the briny estuary
lingers, languid, late into evening,
the twilight feels like a warm fermented liquid,
a broth alive and buzzing,
my mind fuzzy, interested but intoxicated,
whatever moves in the night is neither
and pays me no mind.
Night closes slowly, this far from city light
stars reach across millennia,
photons dancing with the fireflies,
silver shards suspended in the blackberry wine,
thoughts suspended, heartbeat slowed,
life paused, lines cut loose, set adrift
stuck in the mud, yet adrift,
dead in the water, finally feeling peace.
