The Mangrove, The Preserver - Yellow Eyes

The mangrove, the preserver, holds its tongue

As flashlight cones are whimpering

And twitching like a hand

Sighing without sound or light

The dense lungs of the waterline

Where flatness asks the water in

To fall through lit rafters

Spearing like a shiv of dust

To meet it, the preserver

Which is mangrove here but winter there

Do not probe your fearfulness and pride

Just try to shimmer by

Without a look into the pit

On your way to Dresden on a train

Your luggage close

Your bulging gut that’s rooted through

With hairline strands of thread and loam

It wants it

The smell of mud

Through the cold glass with one small scratch

The mangrove, the preserver, holds its tongue