Drawing Lines

Morning draws a line down the middle of the river,
On this side, the sun is touching my face like the skin of a lover the second before contact
On the other side, the river steams exuberance against the clean knife blade of the morning air.
Down the center of the river: nothing visible, nothing tangible, but a division.

An otter slips into the black water out of his little house of green reeds, disappearing.
He is showing me with his small body: the river is not divided, the river is everything.

I draw lines and put myself on one side.
I am divided.

I want to throw myself after the otter like I throw myself into my work.
I want to disappear
I want to rise up again
like the crane,
wings a perfect double arch,
All the wet world his.

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