Koshin, riverside shrine

put your index finger through the hole
touch the god lips
where drawn from skin and soft
she will suck it in
to, turning backward,  spit a little more life into the Tama

this plat
as Other
restrained by straw rope and paper shingles
signals also
exhaustion is equal to abundance
the guardians are tired
monkeys stones eroded
caged foxes in ragged bibs
jizu dragging the body of us
as ant with fly
there's something amiss in the torii concretion
She's there at the edge of it,
that woman guardian
in flowered smock and broom shoes
watching us
not as threat but appended
to the dust here
her dread palpable
as the metal pump sidling the stone god
Inside my head I hear her-
"one drop more
is too much
and
always
it will come"