Water Path

When a soul passes out of the body, it sinks
as certain bodies do,
                                     toward some restitution,
some cold and colder prospect of the ocean’s
threshing floor.
                         It could be years, and still it falls.
Still you see a father in a stranger’s face, the one
you wear,
                         the one you tear away as you,
             bewildered, wake.
             If a bitterness lingers there, no matter.

                         What you have heard is not true.
Eternity is changing.
Earth is raising a thundercloud from the fathoms,
where eel and angel bear their lamps.

                                     Children spin their coins
around the vortex at the science fair, and slowly
the orbits narrow.
                         Pitch rises. Silver disappears.
Most of what I feel I feel late.
                                                              Eyes closed.