I will show you a river in which men will,
when looking for strange metal,
find only other rivers.
Will have found reason again to unstitch
all matter and cast what’s left
as sand to oceans.
Will have emptied myself of all noise,
and stood silent, as polished
bones and breath alone.
Will come, femur deep in slow waters
clacking metacarpals curled,
supplicating, then still.
Will break-connectives disassembling,
collapse absent of all cohesion,
sink, having given up all grammar
and will be again a river,
of other flooded rivers.