figured out
what keeps
these
seemingly vexed
red-eyed men
easing
their big
hairy toes
into my
waters.
only a few
were brave
enough to
plunge
nose pinched
and first
while others
merely
waded
in tepid basins
to the waist.
ah, but
none of
these bathers
speaks well
on my name.
it was,
perhaps,
their being
soaked,
baptized,
made to
see the face
of god in
my bending
estuaries
and though
they lived
as filthy
sickened
men,
in me,
they felt
no more
clean.
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