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