by Elan Justice

Downward facing
in a shallow dew
dreams now drowned,
now dead, more true.
But I can cradle water,
lucid receptivity,
for all the things withheld
but still inside of me.
This limpid body
with translucent veins
a murmuring heart
that beats my pains,
kept too closely,
fed on fear—
tainted water
stays so clear—
suscitated pool
held against my chest,
breaks, forgiven, down the drain.
Now even hurt is blessed.