The Years of Water & Light

In the boat I tied her shoes.

Additionally, the stream cussed and spat.

Our feet extended and our guts inquired.

The end is never the way that you expect.

This is where I lose her:

at the shore, in sweet water.

We dealt with wild canines overripe apples and herring.

My hands shimmer with hunger.

Her hair hung in willow appendages, mine in wild onion.

I reel the little fish of time.

The end never happens and reliably happens.

In winter we suet the trees. The cardinals appear like snow.

I bend her willow hair. Once more I tie her shoes.

It is winter again. The birches like skewed brushes.

Why might you say you are crying? Why might you say you are crying?

Begin anyway start with the end:

in spring she is pregnant. In summer she isn't.

The youngster swims in each room.

See where our means wet the section?

That was the place where we were gathered up