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Baby Elephants
Twelve boulders line the Ohio
River
like baby elephants curling snugly
into the pink shoulder of the river bank.
The water of the Ohio is creamy and
brown providing a safe border between
Kentucky and Indiana. Today, I walk
along the river and nothing at all advertises
itself to me, even Indiana looks sleepy
and commonplace on the other side.
But sometimes at night, this
river is
a black hand, stroking me with his
fingers and pulling me against my will
into himself. Orange sparks fly
from these fingers, releasing the
creamy bottom of the river into
me and there is nothing I can do
to resist it.
And sometimes, at night, Indiana
shines
green and yellow, throwing its glare like a net
all the way to Kentucky, falling
around my feet, making the earth
swoony and pulling the snakes
from their holes.
And I swear, I see your face
on the river, a mile long and green,
handsome and disconcerting because
your lips curl and change
with every ripple.
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