Ecocide

The ends of fingers have gotten heavy
There are no ridges of sand at the bottom of the water to feel
And if there was

The ends of fingers have gotten too heavy to lift and touch and experience.

They have been landlocked for years in the spilt insides of the Appalachians.
The interstates and accents and God make the water stand still
So no body ventures down stream, through the canal, out to the ocean;
Though, brain cell fog and heartless optical nerve spite staying and loving.


Simulated fish swim away from each other in frenzy.
Salt in the water breathes righteously, 

knowing simply and fully all of it, everything
The creator, tiny and infinite and CELLULAR.