10
Emotions ooze like oil spills,
tarring the bird in the cage of our chests.
The river at night is a different oil spill.
Lit from within, houses that line the valley are torches.
I didn’t see the deer.
Dusky light. My heart swerved.
Moving water is always in the present tense.
And we’re stranded on shore.
Saudade.
Saudade.
