tell the truth, even as

here we are then, turquoise and tortoise shell.
the click clack of wood blocks, the plot plink
of rain. winter solstice and a pond full of fat
ducks. in my sleep, I tell the truth. the truth,
moonlight and duck fat. it tastes like root beer.
each holy body glows with it under the black-
light. it ripples the way sound does, out
from an invisible center. everything is possible.
even now, our glasses smeared with oil. our power
plants coal-fired. when will the river rise over
the bank? soon, it says, foaming at the mouth.
the all-seeing dog rests her hunter’s body
at your feet. the sea is its own monster.
for now, you wait. waiting makes you anxious
so you drink. drinking makes you lazy so you let
yourself off the hook and the dust collects. dust
full of arsenic, dust full of lead. tap your beak
against the tight wall, tapping like the river does,
every moment, every dam. when the sea rises up,
tell her you love her. go on. tell the truth, even as
it kills you. how many planets are there
with lemongrass and sassafras? with darkness
and downpour, with difficulty? how many with oceans
to surrender to as they swallow you whole?