WATERMARK

the river has receded
but still I am
drowning

my hair has come undone
combs on the river bottom
nosed by sequined fish

round and smooth
as a river-stone
I am falling

trout jump
into the glistening
foaming air

I comb my hair out
in the morning
twist it up along the curve

of the back of my
skull
among the stones

at the bottom
of the river perhaps
I can hold

my breath long enough
to float
to the top