Below the Belt
As the dust breeds in our hideout
between the hemispheres,
I invoke your living ghost:
a journey through time
and a far-off place,
a casting off and a reeling in,
the ship that sailed with the heat
rising off our backs,
a jaguar and a fish out of water,
two rivers and one raw seam,
running shallow, reaching deep,
stopping short,
left with a swift hug and a hole
where the heart should be,
weeks later and worlds apart,
nothing but water and sky to bind
our far-flung bodies, plagued
with raw want, a rude awakening,
and sweet, sweet memory,
a circus of vine-ripe, vicious visions
torturing through the mind,
the end of a new beginning,
the shock of an endless thirst,
the nest egg tossed
at a lump sum of nothing,
half a planet,
an empty cup.
Dana Gittings 