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
