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Go southwest From Cape Henry, through The stands of loblolly, dim Cypress, gunky sweet gum, And try and find the center-- Place where all our third-grade teachers said the best water comes from, The kind that wouldn't rot. Oh such high demand we had back when clipper ships and similar vessels roamed our local waters. Gives us an international flare, right? A way to look at this swamp beyond the green Highway sign and the legend of the lovers lost, how they sighted will-o-the-wisps and cottonmouths, their white lips laughing, their cold bodies dangling like whips of cord From the trees. Fetch us some of that water: We've only ever heard its praise. Even at school, where we colored the lake blue between black lines, we couldn't help but love its sinuous curves, how they watered sailors like our fathers, curious and thirsty, as inconstant to us as lovers, as all the lines we filled and always so far from here. posted by Reen |link| 0 comments |