WEBVTT

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A poem about something
that happens to all of us

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and none of us
remember except for me.

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It's about being born.

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It's called "Cloud River."

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I never thought I
would write a line

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like the first line of this
poem, but I still [INAUDIBLE]..

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But my imagination finally
got unfettered enough

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to do something else.

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The unborn children are rolling
out to the far edge of the sky,

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looking for warm
beds to appear in.

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How lucky they are, dressed
in their lake colored gowns.

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The oars and their oily locks
taking them stroke by stroke,

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to circumference and artery.

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I'd like to be with them
still, pulling my weight.

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Blisters like small white hearts
in the waxed palms of my hands.

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I'd like to remember my old
name and keep the watch,

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waiting for something
immense and unspeakable

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to uncover its face.

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