See, babe, the waters not so high.
It is autumn, we let things go.
We are Quebec, we are sauntering forward.
Like water above the knees like dresses
above the knees. Like rivers, like
oil, like frying pans we understand.
I hope. Bike around the city--
see the boys on Second and Florida
practicing kung fu or tai chi
at ten at night in the alley.
And how they move--so slowly
with staff and position after
carefully wrought position. Like water.
Like water, like breath taking in
sweet jams or the beasts inside frying onions.