Aquatic

Have you heard, demon,
where the soft brain lies,
where you might find it?
There is no water in the universe,
and so you run this far—
look, here it comes,
standing behind our walls.
 
The desert’s dryness
breaks the clouds to feed itself;
it wants to devour
our beautiful world.
A bare spine,
the marginal strength of thought—
come with me,
here winter is past.
 
The rain is over and gone;
flowers come to earth
while ignoring the body’s seed.
The sky tears and eats,
cuts and carries away
to our own country,
where we hear
there will be no more aquatic life.
 
All will be hard,
sharp as steel—
intelligence, ghost,
the clouds’ primordial shape,
the ice-stone assembly
like Kanchenjunga’s peak,
with sodden soil and humility.
 
My beloved
has carried her heart far away,
gone for many days;
there is no water, only cloud remains.
Detachment loves itself;
watery life endures
in the blood of the heart—
and even there,
I hear today,
beloved, your voice.