Soft water, sweet

Soft water, sweet.

To leave a city

take a road a path a track

a river to where

softer water finds

calcium intentions

bathing octopus-inked

skin leather shell swirl fossil

flower and quill. She had carved a film

of salt line crease fold graffiti

circling an arm turning

in water, the dream

scape never seen whole.

To twist when an arm is soft

divides lines spread smudges 

mushroom to lightning strikes, 

our burnt toast heart swirls with legs!

Jumping beans! Turtle eggs. Blue egg 

breakfasts waving in blotches 

from a bandit’s nib. The painter, 

the pig's-ear carver artiste,

his bandit brush and her inky gun 

painting cathedrals. Our cerulean inks 

are melting drops of nostalgia...when 

nostalgia is sweet, soft, water.



7/2020