In the garden

the levels of the water

that discount one another

through the movement of the tides


the shape of the same water

drawn from the size of the light

washed up on a beachless moon


the self-same water weighted

with a saline interlude

then dismissed by the cycle


yet not the fresh imbibement

that waters, lifts the flower

that grows, repeats the flower


are some of those entrenched streams

feeding one river, frozen

unto itself, over all


February 2020


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