Buenavista

Fuzz in my head like love, singular, singularity, only feeling is the grasping for words like gasping for air;
I descend the staircase in my old house, picture of a family in a raft on the wall. In it I'm wearing old-looking sunglasses,
as from a poster in my cousin's room, Stoned Again. I was not stoned.
I gripped a paddle, I steered rapids, I had command and control and was there to live through it, and I did, and so did everyone else
in Buena Vista; made the mistake of
jumping into the creek after a lost volleyball, strong current, couldn't stand, thin and weak knees straining and finally buckling against Colorado's current,
then sweeping me downstream. The volleyball now my life preserver, what a strange turn, I saved it, now it saves me.
Stand on the shore of the creek, dripping wet, hot, strange fuzz in my head.
Like love, like death. Like water in my ear.