Now

Woman
unpossessed
is the river
swept
with
Current

To my seventh grade self

Little girl
I do not possess you
We are made of matching molecules
but my reverie is no more relevant
than your flimsy photograph.
I may as well be floating,
as we always are.
I do not possess you.
And yet,
our small lives
will forever
belong
to one another.

On the train

It is city transit.
River, rather.

The woman in the blue dress is actually wearing slacks and a blouse; shoulder-slung banjo glimpses as she strolls past high school snugglers and a mama with a bike.
Five red-nosed circus clowns wade the stream; Meryl Streep, and Ghandi,
while an elderly gentleman gives birth to a banana split through his belly-button, a puppy dives into a one armed handstand by the handicapped seats, and a small stroller child silently chokes to death on a red lozenge.

No one in the water sees.
Wide-eyed helping hands 
too full of the wonder
in our telephones.