nocturne: swamp thing

something about standing
in a swamp slimed with pond scum
building a bridge with fallen trees
surprised at what i can carry
these strangers approach
calling me by name
they have a letter for me
mistakenly delivered years ago
when it would have mattered
the envelope is covered with
notes about how to find me
they’ve made it a mystery to solve
they seem so proud

my family has crossed the bridge
i am alone in the muck
with a silver bowl of fresh water
and the letter, flavorless with age
he writes to give a detailed update
his creative process is going well
he has borrowed poems
from his brother’s friends
in the care home in iowa
he has enclosed some photos
you should really try this keyboard

the strangers watch me
take off my clothes
and splash silver water
on my face and hair and shoulders
i can’t feel anything
about his words
i wish i had walked
across my wooden bridge

you know what i love about museums
sometimes they burn all the way down