Still Water

you are river water that smells like fish.

you are mildew that grows on canoes.

today i looked through my closet,

and found your things, the things i kept that

smelled like you.

today i saw how fluid we were, or how fluid everything is,

or just how quickly we go from white rapids

to still water. and i am a fish

who feeds at the bottom

of our nostalgia.

i pucker my lips, i flutter my gills.

i have spent months running away from you,

but today i wanted to smell you,

so i smelled the things that smell like you,

and you smelled sterile,

like cloth.