As the Pleiades rise and set, we are floating
on the corrugated lake,
feeling undulations of a forest of kelp
and curious, darting mouths of minnows.
Our mouths, too, are curious and our fingers.
They probe, touching one another,
ourselves in a timeless water dance.
Suspended here, our faces and bodies are
no longer exhausted by the effort of
growing old. Now, lithe and buoyant
again, we ignore the shiver of bat wings,
sound of nightmares riding the wind.
Above us, a fishtail sky with a black moon,
and our full-fleshed selves hide behind it
while their hinged shadows rise
and begin to reach for falling stars.
|