No Way Out


The river slows now,
Like the heart when a human rests,
Wreathed in a quiet darkness.

The water flows delicately,
Discreetly,
Gently over silt hills,
And the leaves begin to gather.

If you are a fish,
The silt hills are an inconvenience.

The father lifts the rock to find the worm,
And the son casts into the river.

Bodies in a pile,
The flame is spreading.

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