There's a heavy rock lodged in the riverbed
of my chest, sinking deeper as the waters run
past. The mud sucks down, like an anchor
dragging behind. And I dig, around the edge, prying
one clasped finger away at a time, squelching, lifting
the weight, washing the aqueous soot away, holding
the boulder to one day thrust it, fling it ashore, then
my body will float.