Lake
Mist rises like fish jumping, like
heart thumping, like firs
sighing, like memory
crying, like
hope dying–not needed-not even
considered–like dawn
breaking, like love
making, like water curling in
upon its fall, like head on lap on
lips on lips on
hips, like you and me and fingers
fingering, a brush against a nipple,
or being brushed against,
like something somewhere sure
of joy, like
the thing itself.
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A revision of a poem from my book, GOING ON SOMEWHERE, by Karin Gustafson, illustrated by Diana Barco (though the photograph above is mine and is actually of the Hudson River). Posted for DVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night, hosted by the wonderful Claudia Schoenfeld.
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