Entering the Ouse

First the bad boots

give up their strength, then the toes lift

their anchors. The ankle

bones are broken,

and so on, until the bladder lets go, without

shame, and the genital

organ washes away, the ovum

and her fertile signals. A proxy pain

stands in for the larger

intangible.

Has nothing to do

with tufts of snow blown upon

the unforgiving surface,

but how I mistook the beauty of those particle

deaths, their of-the-world

stardom, as a kind of metaphysical river,

that if I looked long enough,

with enough reverence...

Let my waist, bled numb, stand in

for that miscalculation. And the severed

friendships in the current’s wake, the bloom

blown off the stricken

self. I saw formal water,

knowing my body wanted to go there.

My only child. How

I’ve betrayed you.