Swimming

lake

Do you remember how the City of Lakes was hissing steam when the stars climbed above the headlights just west of Hennepin Avenue?

 

And all that burned was reflected off the dark water, which lay mute like a black mirror.

 

I was at my fullest and I called your name

as I walked into the lake

 

Toes in the sandy mud

 

Butt-naked and fearing nothing

 

Buoyed by longing and carried forward by wonder.

 

And you undressed,

and you followed.

 

Winged things flew in and out of the trees and rose like gloomy shadows just above our heads.

 

And whatever was doubtful was deleted,

washed away by the green water as we held fast to one another.

 

But now there is no steam and the fruit bats and the barred owls are far away.

There is little that seems full

and there is even less of wonder.

 

Yes, something vast and unnamed remains

but instead of carrying us

its weight feels dead.

 

Leaden, with the heft of unanswerable questions

and dark, dry silence.

 

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