(For a Water Sign: January 26, 1986)
There is something left unsaid: for wounding eyes
a cut of silence bled for washing clean.
In frequent deep, voices unwed; lone
divers, careless in this wet sky,
a stroke above the clouds that
part their waves to meet god.
She swims to this sign,
a glass-winged girl
and flooding deaf horizons
with the brook's gurgle, a babble
academy loosing its flow, dismissing what may shatter stone.
There is no fear of drowning, no caution at the water's edge. All is safe
I will say, in sinking to the sea below.