Fountain When

writing is a spring from a source at a mouth
says, "nothing," unless quoted, painted, snapped
where do you go on these contours of land
staying so low, as rivers expand

tiring it's gone to sea in a boat
arks that we build for heaven
not moats. floods will arrive
of that we are sure

we heated the skies
baited the tour: walk down
this plank, to safety, a bath
send back what you see
though you won't last