Moonrise poplar lace shimmies,
pearls rapt in foil fall
on dark broth,
and still we return
to lake edge, shirtsticky
boot through sledge tar.
We pawthunk and amble
downbank, become iridescent.
Crystal juiced and waylaid,
shorts on a bush, your
soft shore legs glow so.
We leap (as bunnies),
break black scrim and backfloat.
You cup a fine course; I
allow myself eddies and swerves.
On shore,
the beasts empty bloodruts
with mournful wails.
For you, love,
I’d jimmycarter rabbits with a canoe paddle.
First published in the now defunct The Fulcrum Online.
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