To the Waters

That’s what I wanted to say, then.

Something about your bare back

looking like the sun-flecked shoals

of a river I’d never seen,

    whose

banks were too broad a country

to be silhouetted by one rippling bed.   

That dark crease down the center,

how it wavers left to right like a wake

left from the day’s last swimmer.

You invited yourself in, asked to sit

on my bed, but laid down instead,

then tilted your head back waiting

for me to place my hands on you,

pilgrim for the first time to the water.  

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

More succinct than the normal run of your poetry, but lacking none of the sweep. Top-notch from stem to stern.