Raymond Luczak
AND SOMETIMES A RIVER
will insist
on flooding
right across
the highway,
where no car
can travel
with that pull
of suction
from under
the currents
slithering,
waiting to
remind us
to honor
the true gods,
all of whom
have no names
yet endowed
with power
to destroy
with each kiss
of season.
And yet I
know inside
how we must
also bow
to that god
of secret
fantasies
far taboo
to share with
anyone
slithering
inside us,
lightning streaks
heating up
and pulsing
in our veins,
aching to
be reborn
as we chuck
off our clothes
to expose
those rivers
yet to flood
against squalls
of hot shame,
self-hatred,
wasting years
of fearing
yet wanting
to feel those
erupting
ocean waves,
shimmying
back to the
rivers who
commune with
the nameless
gods who come
to rebuild
what must be
destroyed in
the name of
everything.