From Charlie Hopkins…
At the mouth of the river we are spread wide as delta fans.
Your mouth is the only mouth of the only river
and you are the estuary where the river and the Gulf
flood into one another, salt water and fresh.
Wounds still tender after a thousand years,
pus filled and seeping, may be cleansed, may be healed by the salt.
Three years later you can’t find a scar.
But there is an entity living in us that cannot survive the Gulf.
It sickens of salt water and it dies.
As long as the One I love has a face,
my face will be hers and her face will also be hers.