in the heat, begging
and with florid
want
and because excuses
and the figuring of new lines
exhaust hope
the river is pushing
the duck weed and
the perch, up
the tide against the flow
against the story
I knew
a guy in Syracuse
who fell so far
it was over
and his name, Smart
still stings and
the irony
messes with buoyancy
here, below the
black cliffs
where the water
cold, in September
might have saved him
