Hard Water



In the new town, the water tastes different. Even

The rain.


The shower leaks, drumming impatiently

Its fingers on the tiles,


Leaving a copper tang in the air, a freshly

Dug grave smell,


Clean as a slab. Toweling down, the body still

Slick from the soap


That just won’t lather, a trickle crawls into

A parted sigh on the lips.


Its bead melts there. Curious, how its potent



Tastes of distance, limestone, whiteness,

And the rain.




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