Lake Pickerel

i went somewhere that America's hand had not touched—
where wires were nowhere to be found
and radio waves fell short of the horizon in the dimming distance:
where screens went black and telephones' rings faded off
into the night sky.

i went somewhere where Perseus watched over us
while Andromeda undressed (for no one was around)
while her mother sat twisted and abhorred us
because we were free to move and shift our bodies
in the lakewaters below.

i went somewhere that quenched my tired soul
and fed my skin's parched desires with a spring that flowed below my feet:
the currents swept up my hair and let the crisp waters wash away oils
from my scalp: the animals will drink from this lake
and know one of them was about, the scent is near.

i went somewhere where i could submerge my face
to baptize myself in the eyes of Nature: the trees made up a cathedral
and the Moon was my Father: each little pine needle a parishioner,
the leaves alter boys who swept wherever the Bishop Wind instructed them
to go.

i went somewhere were the highways were smooth and lingered
with the stench of murk and skunk; where the trip under the night sky
left my limbs leery but my eyes just so alive.
eternal nightswimming under the stars with deepness in tow
is forever a wonder for the disenchanted soul.

No comments:

Post a Comment