Water

Today I stood under rain
and a man was naked

before me, and I 

was supposed to look?
Last midnight I taught

a man to split

time into seven segments

and this morning 

one named Time
spoke to me of goats 

and granite, enticed

me to choose my fate

from his palm. 

Another tells me he is losing. 

Another still, 

beside me lies, laughs, 

shifts eyes, turns 

palms over mine. 

And this afternoon, 

when the sky
unbucketed itself
And the river flushed 

harder, and filled

        harder

        all of it

was just water.