Lorelei with wet hair riverine,
black delta, white beaches
coming out of her moonlight shower—
her cold, cold beauty is the chimerical
other for whom the subject’s
erotic longing is like a phantom itch
in a part of the body that died long, long
before we started to patrol this part of the river.
Dark eyes, and wet hair trailing in
the reeds like a subjective language of sedge
through which the divine current snakes.

