terra aquea

on the far side of the river
where it curves

the water
pushes farther onto the land

and turns
it to mud

I write your name into it
with my foot

limping in half steps
the way wounded animals move

feeling your name
harden in my throat

I gouge the shape of it
into the squelching earth

over and over
until your facelessness

coats
the riverbank

first with my heel
then with a broken stick

and finally on my knees
I draw each syllable

out
with my fingers,

touching them to my lips
every time

it's
finished.