August 22nd
Born between two waters,
my body an aqueduct,
salt at one end, the lake
flat as a looking glass,
I could be your mirror—
not the knees and teeth,
but under—and we’d feel
the water in our blood,
our snow melt, our shared rain
pulled rushing to the sea.
Born between two waters,
my body an aqueduct,
salt at one end, the lake
flat as a looking glass,
I could be your mirror—
not the knees and teeth,
but under—and we’d feel
the water in our blood,
our snow melt, our shared rain
pulled rushing to the sea.