The water worried me
when the gray face that floated over it
in lines and patches to the shore
lapped and slavered at the edges,
and sucked at the sack of its tongue.
The water worried me
for a scud of white saliva was its spit,
and the gray face that floated over it
in line and patches to the shore
tugged at the ruptured fundament,
its teeth pebbles overgrown with moss.
The water worried me
when it muttered a riddle of bubbles
and duff as the gray face that floated over it
in lines and patches to the shore
crumpled at the corners of its mouth and eyes.
The water worried me
for it ground its teeth on the truth
that drew me to it.