Breaking the Currents

The moon exits the clouds, the turtle leaves its shell,
a man sheds his skin once in a lifetime
because he is naive and doesn’t know what to expect.

It’s Sunday afternoon,
the city is still simmering
in a stainless steel spoon.

I return like the prodigal son, I’m here to see
the stains on the necks of the goldfinches.
I’m too free and too tired.

Dragging the last damp planks behind me,
the invented fear, a devouring forest,
the warm basement of a hollow tree.

In a few minutes, I’ll press my finger into a wound.
Adrenaline disrupts the rhythm, the hook tears the fish,
I wait and wait, and nothing happens.