saint lawrence river by sophia sweetenham
the stars, beyond the space that can be classified,
avoid the burden of names and
each respective name day,
harkening, as though to attract
singular blood heavenward,
ignorant of blasphemous dichotomy
that trails unrest of the unbelonging
duplicitous light burst
between the two,
inside each moon-drunken observer
refracting difference dependent
on arbitrary wind
where to exact the midline
how to break apart the
unending twines of atomi
when they are known to love
reeling together, sinking into
all weary pores,
regardless of the touch
of alien muscles
inward tangles of uncleansed
lungs eyes hearts arms
lost in the indefinite boundaries
dazed by yester, incomprehensible battles –
we have all kissed our enemies,
washed the same feet of the Unending God,
nearly drowned ourselves repeatedly,
in desperate hope that the
essential universal solvent could
undo every fallacy of place
baptize us into enjoined purpose
release our longing to be
all that we are not
for, anew, we would be everything!
and if the Sky confused our collective prayer
as disparate battlecries,
or if the River could not realize
our omni-actualization
we would drink in all her water,
swim down to the riverbed
disintegrate into bedrock,
settle our blood in molten pools beneath
wrap each eye with fervent lamentation
til every person saw with pearly gaze
and breathe, rebirthed,
at last, communally