Margaret Ross

HOW

Water heals the passage of whatever breaks

through it. And quickly. It heals the passage

and the break immediately. Corrects flesh

or vegetable. Heals indiscriminately.

The fish’s memory corrects each second



cleanly. Erases it. That means

‘abides by the water.’ So the school

is the space between fish surrounding it.

So the mind clears. So it polishes

a single principle. So salmon



and trout run, so the schooled fish

synchronize. That way their passage

continues the water. Or furthers it.

Schools of wrasses that consume hosts’

parasites. Called, ‘cleaning them.’ Healing



the fish by reduction. Or, further, wrass

mimics that erase the distinction. Consume

host and parasite. And indiscriminately.

The water heals the fish it bears

indiscriminately. It corrects them so it clears.



HOW

No, no, there are no others. The lid wrinkles

and breaks. The light shuffles down towards, no, we

are the crystal veins and bones and have

no vision. The sea vegetables loll their limp strands

uselessly. A line draws no border. The small

muscles school here, curl and flexing.

As those behind a face, but the face blank

always. So synapses glow to shed light

cautiously. So we taper. So we tend towards

the water dumbly. The water smoothes and tapers

away from expression. So the current here seeks no exit.

mosaic burning

We burn the rings. We burn the hummocks threaded up

from sand back down to it. We knit their manyed

peaks into the flame, a fire beating from our hands.

Its fingered blades. The isthmic strands we grip

that weave the hummock in. From heartring

dead. From younger rings that age in lockstep

round, proceeding. Radiate: the mice twitch

burrow into run. The smoke unfurls its plane.

The fires constellate, and lifting, dredge

those yawning pupils open on the sand.



spinifex ring

The one to one that touches in its bright makes many

scurrying out to scent what good direction. To unspool

out the hum. The hummock’s rustle frays the strains

each pulsebeat measures. Each hurries from

that feathered mouth that hisses as it preens.   no

no  very bad and blooming  the sky gluts thick

and drops.  The what for whom sheer wanting sprouts

its limbs, appends and swells the objects in its reach.

It rises them. The hummock bursting upwards

by that bright, then bustles, shines and caves. The  far

and farther till the air sinks up.  The shadows

planted down await their fated objects in the clearing.



* *



*Note:  Spinifex is a grass that grows in hummucks in Australia. When the hummock ages, its inner circle collapses, resulting in a ring.*