This battered window box
has found an opening 
–with a single flower
 
is taking on the sun
though you use well water
fitting it into its shadow
 
as if madness needs a corner
for its darkness reaching out
the way your heart was filled
 
with river noise
that has nothing left to give 
–what you hear is the sun
 
swallowing ice as the antidote
to flower after flower and the mist

from someone breathing.