Belle Ete
The river arlenzon washes over my calves in a shock of cold. I watch f undrwater rags twist in its shuddering curls: Toiletpaper discarded by upstream gypsues. The grass in shadow is a turbid fecund green and smells like an aroused woman. Fat leaves block out the light in heavy blue shadows. Constellations of gnats, mating in mid-air, catch light as I fan them from my face.