eve

in the afterlife of the wind

at the edge of the city

waiting for the split second

of hesperidean light that hits the water

when day ends

euterpe, branches twisting to and fro,

leaned in

to hear the wide mouth of the river

speak low—

there, there…

drunk on counting out my eight legs

and with only the slenderest filiation

i tried to cross the ocean

my breath disrupted like milkweed

as sleek, white boeings hit the air