There are secret rivers flowing through my house
The sound of the rushing
comes to me
padding
footsteps in the hall
late at night
Whispers
mist around us
coil and writhe
to rise
against the cornice
to swirl down
obscuring naked bulbs
in hush
The flotsam
of wild tides
pinking tampons
floating
on the still waters
of the toilet bowl
And later
when it is not relevant
weeks past the flood tides crisis
I am told
in bed
late at night
as
the whispers
coil and writhe
around us
how my child
has joined the ebb and flow
Given to Artemis
and the wild hunt
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