The wheel turns the water
under its stiff knuckle;
treads itself in place.

The water rushes past,
shakes roughly into shape
debris into dam,

turns matter into light
and turns it back again.
Water will forget

and pull against itself;
forgotten to the wheel,
the feel of its pull.

The wheel and water
push and pull, like one
hard wooden heart.

Someone here is stranded
crying on the rocks.
The water has her

by the ankles and it
holds her and it holds her.