In all the streams we have fly-fished chest-high
we have felt the water's apathy in being
a stream as if it would be just as at-home
in a mountain mist or a glacier or an elephant.
Being seventy-five percent water
you now have that same feeling:
should this stream of a body dry up
you could be just as happy in another place.
But think of all the campfires we have watched,
the last blue flame tussling with the embers
drawign from, say, Polaris, wanting to stay
fire--not light nor heat nor smoke--
as if a heart were beating inside it.
Sitting dizzy in a drizzle of a dream
we always stayed awake, never doused a flame.
[Joseph Caruso]
