Between Two Rivers

On waves.

XXXV.
Between black and blue
      the body pools its blood into
this electric bruise.
It is nothing like
the sea, save for its
      silent maw: nerve fibers seeing
and sawing like so
      many teeth beneath these shut
            portals.

XXXVI.
There was a door, too, 
      where the pain began, because there 
is no pain without 
a door. Thundering 
inward then forward 
      across the ocean, its slamming 
shut is an echo 
      I am still slowly learning
            to quell. 

XXXVII.
Now it vibrates, spring-
      like, between quantum states with no
intermediaries. 
In other words, it 
is hard to share these
      feelings without spilling into 
the wound so many 
      pools of sound: rippling waves with-
            out light,

XXXVIII.
darkness rippling a-
      cross time and space. Eyes closed and mouth
open, I dive into
the bruise and behold
someone else's spring: waves
      of inner saltwater swelling
downward to the tongue,
      then out to the current of
             the sea.

XXXIX.
So it is that things
      fall back into place. The windows
being eyes into
the soul, they bring in
spring and all its mot-
      tled promise: funerary rain
for the fallen, brisk
      air for the throat, sunlight for the
            cold soul.