straddles the river and welcomes
all to his chest: crawdads, moss, migratory birds
(hummingbird and pollo alike),
roadside wanderers looking
for lost stamp-mills and cities,
the suck of groundwater pumps.

He even suffers a mudpack dam
hastily erected, the cold metal of a flume
lodged in the gap every day
when it seems like the flow is going
to dry up and monsoons will never come.

The little mouths and walnuts pour into
his hand, their confessions released.
The baptist brings his charges
into the swell of every foot placed
on the ground, the river of bodies
so that the water may be born again.