for Susan
You, you, orange rose
in the attic of a deconstruction; the shingles, the sky
looked up and east
You poled the Mississippi
murk plants tickled your belly
you wrote your own raft
you rode it, you, you
look like a bowsprit maiden, hair scrolled out
sweetening sea gods, hands like sails
and tar eyes
catching, catching
When you were carved,
they used the same saws on me
only duller.
You, you
pitch through waves
move through me like I'm water.
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