Boundary Breach
Pick up the button hole
or eye of needle
with hard squint
see inside
salute the high sun
see us lucid but listing
hands open
I can conjure us
like that
dip of oar
the silvered pond
interruption of glass
the canoe- our reflection in mad
Van Gogh dashes-
un-mired by melt
we sit quietly in memory
waiting for an August noon
of yarrow perfume,
sweet sting of thistle
leading us there
Meanwhile the dirge of March
melting ice, metal scraping the edges
anxious grass and granitic snow
fish writhing back to life
below the frozen surface
translucent; thin enough
to crack
with a spoon
a thimble
with a tap
without you
Solace in a muddy marsh
This hard, narrow focus
as close
As I’ll ever be
to having you back
Thrush Literary Journal, May, 2012
