there is no telling where it starts


the blood that runs

the rain that spatters

in narrow sliding lines

spreading to channel webs

along the warp and weft of skin

resisting bead by bead they drop

into the hand’s wrinkled bowl

into rising gutter current

disappearing in the cracks

and open grate a torrent

lacing the elemental salt in salt

commingling in a stream

and trailing heavy residue

down hillside spill to slack water

a dark ephemeral veil

flat as an altar cloth

having lost its body

then called by the sun

to a new purpose rises


begins again