As seen through the skimming
Lips of the mesh rimmed catch. Caught
Up in it. Left for too long. It being
Tree tips shaken off to meet the much stuccoed
Breast of pool bottom, breaching. The last time
We left for the summer was the first time
The earth began to turn. And after all,
Who are we to say? And after
All we are left. To shake the surface
Free of debris from above. In the watery
White of the upper, current clawing
Itself in the browned and broken. Nothing
Moves. Only the quiet of long plunging hands.
To bend and break by the watery gaze. Angled
Through the light, beneath water, things
Move, without time for cause. Time
For the falling. Time for the skimming. This
Time, when we leave for the summer, we
Forget a peach pit floating: to grow its roots
In chlorine. To give us some shade. Under
Its branches, we fall to green,
To forgive, and to rest
At last, we
Say, at last.
Leave a Reply