Fly Over Water, Crumbs in a Cup
At the trial for drunken boaters,
news about how dazzled the hour was,
how like sacks stuffed with shadows
the underwater creatures they hurt without knowing.
If we together equal less than those breathers,
less than burning waters plus hyacinth, than bare cypress knees,
less too than the boats with their careless blades,
tell me (and forgive my old wakefulness)
how much less is the one who, moon-dragged and angry,
only watches love sleep—
less than a fly’s eye fracturing green?
less than crumbs in a cup, desire’s remainder?
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