Great Salt Lake

by John Sibley Williams

Buoyed by all this salt,
a body struggles to drown.

Whatever weight I place
on my chest, real or

misremembered personal
histories, everything

inside settles on this calm
surface, exposed. A raw

wind breaks off
the distant hills

shaking avocets
from the weeds

& scavengers
from their shadows

without disturbing
up a wave. The wind

plays me like a bone
flute; a strange kind

of agency, song. Sunlit,
entirely material, I

recognize we weren’t made
to belong to this world

or to own or survive it.
Baked body, adrift, I’m sorry

I can’t think of anything anymore
not worth saving from itself.

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