Albert K. Ashes-Bury’s River

I went to the wild river where I used to lie daily
and dripped my holy water in (I’d been crying).
Truthfully, I did this over a lifetime (I write well in advance) and the river
always bursts its banks. And at the bottom of it
is mud. So I jump in again caking myself in it.

There could have been another story now
about us rebuilding the banks together, but

that isn’t possible, there having been
no river
to start with
of course: I’d just been crying into her.

And I’m back here again filling it up.

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