Today she broods as thick clouds drizzle.
Smooth small rocks roll and clink in her bay
while past the lighthouse boulders slap waves into geysers.
Don’t tell me you’re too strong to surrender.
Don’t tell me she does not fix you in her spell.
She hungers for you and every song you’ve sung,
willing to swallow it all.
You could let her take you down deep;
churning and whirling through the depths of her belly.
Let her birth you to another world;
the one you dream but cannot admit.
But here, here I am, tasting her spray.
Cold coats, then penetrates my body.
This strange stick figure in a slicker is me,
making my way over lichen and slick rocky chasms.
Grab a tender birch to regain balance
as gulls tug into kites overhead.
Once there were two of us in matching blue,
just married, searching the town for last minute finds
before ascending the trail and putting in our canoe.
Some teens down the street making catcalls.
So coupley, corny, middle aged, dorky
in gortex suits of aqua blue.
Through eyebrows craggy as the palisades
an old man in a wool cap squints at the lake.
Kin to Jesus, he hobbles onto water,
with one arm uplifted sinks as sunrise seeps blood.
Goodbye, uncle, or father, I hear myself call,
though his heart is still thumping,
vigorous as a grouse drumming.
I live in a place where being dull and lost seems rather normal,
treading water where I can.
But not here. Not with you
Here I must balance, hop, scramble, grasping rock with fine hands.
Navigate above bone chilling water.
Don’t tell me you’re too strong to surrender.
Don’t tell me she does not fix you in her spell.
She hungers for you and every song you’ve sung,
willing to swallow it all.
Help me fall without diving.
Yield without dying.