A Poem After Li Po by Heather Ann Schmidt

I want to sit by the Yangtze river,
let my veins open up–
tributaries to the wild.

Wine-soaked skin,
a miracle like Jesus performed
at the wedding.

Enough bliss to wash over the broken metronome.

Would it keep moving under the current?

Would it remember how to move if it almost drowned
and was revived?

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