There are jellyfish swimming around me and the water is dark and dreamy

A blue so black, like a universe of dilated pupils.

The tentacles of The Salish grasp at my legs

while feathers float at the surface,

those little boats for heavy burdens.

My child stirs in her sleep and kicks at my ribs

I’m here.

Yellow lights twinkle through the opening of ancient arched doorway

like the jaundiced eyes of dead french knights.

On this soft couch

I watch the buildngs awaken with the day,

Each brick, stacked like the centuries of lives lived beyond their barrier

Iron and tile, guard and servant.

Thick suppressive clouds

pushing fog in through the cracks of the windows

which escapes as the smoke of a lighted chimney cigarette.

Here, above The Gers

a muddy pilgram, slowly making its way to repentance.

Me, or the river.