I wish I'd  known from the very start
which mountain the sun came from,
eyes can be deceiving in rain,
fountains, rain-corralled, tempt me into sleeping on your neck to serve a servitude of roses.
in which green bay the rolling sea spies on me, seawater-deep, but  not at all clear,
lagoons on tropical Islands are lost on me.
kind of like fantasy.

I wish you and I knew from the very start
that in our heart of hearts we do not have a way to deal with watery death;
water is a better sort of wound 
water wishes from the very beginning
that human hands remain unpolluted by blood.
That is the key to the music box hidden in the secret garden, the door closed, where roses
grow into  stories, water dilutes the tears of loved ones, simply astonishingly wet, before you know it, you are watery with the urge to repeat  I reach the end of your hand
below the bridge of sighs
on the very verge of doubt

Eject me from the river,
soak me in the sun;
I break it to you:
dreams do come true.
waves and tides congregate
I went and went and went,
I took the shade of this old water tree,
tired and broken, to cover you, but I'd love to see you
kiss the sun with your wet lips
drink the water from my mouth
watch my heart melt. 

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