by Zachary Warble

I stand in the shower & turn the water down

& down

& down

until the flesh rises but then gives in.

I think back to being young in a bath

waiting for the bubbles to subside & form

a little waterspider film across the top;

I think about moving the patches around

like herds of pearlescent sheep & later

how I’d divide & unite shifting continents

that would stick to my hands

pulling away the shorelines

as they left the soapy water.

I stand in the shower now

as a man in the driving rain w/ a

repeating rifle wrapped in rawhide &

lashed to my back

nothing to kill or save

lost & looking for a little boy

next to the cliffs of a sucking ocean.