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.