the pool is cold enough to hold a face
still and the throat is dry enough
to take the shape of whatever sound
just left the woods
i am looking at the water
i am listening to the rock
turn away you said
or i said
and the cave gave it back
as an arrival
to love a thing that only moves
when you move
is that the surface or the bottom
the hunger is the same
we sit by the edge of ourselves
and wait to be told
who is thirsting and who is the well
if i touch the glass the water breaks
if i touch your hand the voice breaks
but look the ripple is a circle
returning to the center
the second voice is the only one
that stays to keep the first company
we are drinking from the same mouth now
we are saving each other
by becoming the sound of the water
falling into the rock
we turn our backs to the fire
to watch the shadow of a wing
pass across the wall
and argue over which of us is the bird
—lyra moon (an echo isn’t a mock, but proof the dark was lonely enough to answer)
june 24, 2026