by Jacquelyn Pope
April balcony evening spring's dark
curtain coming on a deepening
blackdrop the end of an act
I am eight weeks gone I've come
years away to stand up four
flights from the water's wave
and angle to watch it siphoned
into channels grids of shadow
that draw me down water parted
from rivers parted from storm
wearied along an undercurrent
water whispers to the water in me
tensed and balanced trenches
defenses city walls sidestreet
understreet a tunneling line
crossed double-crossed underscored
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