Up comes a great, dripping knot, bringing so much lake bottom with it that my sister says, Rinse it off, let the mud float back down and settle, but I haul the mess onto a rock so it can bake in the sun and become the familiarity of dry land, I never did like to open my eyes under water, imagined them drowning, washing right out of their little caves to become lake, watering the water.
Ramifications seem to go on forever.
Whether you wanted us to stay by you longer, hold you while you fought for breath. If we'd known it was ending and how it would be to wonder, month into month, and every summer the cove thickening with stems that seem to know nothing about their anchorage, that hold up their green eyes drifting, open wide and free to the summer sun. Poetry pages designed by Alicia Bessette.