THROUGH LAKEMULCH AND COLD WATER,
we stumble, duck, dolphin-dive
over ropes toward the center. We agree
it’s impossible to describe want. Upturned lips,
bodies a swell of heat. The sun crochets the ripples
with light, and we spin circles until the trees blur.
Is the sky darkening or are all these leaves blearing
into bruise? I open my eyes beneath the surface.
Air bubbles rise and you reach toward me.
Someone once said this used to be a suburb
until the city filled the canyon. One man
decided he couldn’t leave and drowned. We dive deep
in search of rooftops, ephemera, a metacarpal, scapula.
I wonder whether the man was alone,
whether anyone remembered him. And on the trail back,
we dodge poison oak, one shadow
echoing another. Cicadas chirp their steady song.
I’m not sure whose hair drips
down my shoulder in search of somewhere warm
to land. Something rattles in the distance while the sun
burns our skin, glimmering like this brush
in the breeze, or like the shards of broken glass
by our feet, petaled with light.