The Coordinates

I’m glad to be back home, by the Danube.
I feel tied to this place, to the water
that was never clear.

In the light of the barges, the muscles
are as tense as catapults.
I return to my favorite game,

I sneak through the reeds
to set the coordinates, like I used to
when I was a child. I feel holy here—

I preach to the leeches,
the small and miserable hearts of the world
that pump blood from ankles.

Here, where centuries ago,
they planted mulberry trees
to stabilize the banks,

where the Roman vestiges
we found in the mud
kept us fed.

I am holy, my neon bones
are paving new paths through the porous night.
I return to my favorite game.