When a mood shifts quickly,
happens swiftly like when
your car signals you need
a change of oil. The feeling
like warm swampy lava
lights in a bar in North Devon
where an embryo swirls
in a wrong yellow. And
you hear Rilke say: “You
must change your life.” He,
gazing on Apollo’s marbled
glow. The God of poetics
made stone heavy and still.
Lest you, too, become a pillar
of salt, like when walking
out of sea’s sodium-soaked net,
floating memories dizzy-ing
you, to pull you back under.