may leave but it will never leave you,
body of water. Where the winds are
second skin that smell of smoky campfires
salted fish, clean and inviting. Where
practical, whales are cousins, and boats are
of beauty to be admired like architecture.
the winds had colors, they'd be fat ribbons that
loose or tie depending on the mood of the water,
is so deep it is as blurred as the sky. The
envelop this water, and cradle any sun
pigments their curvy sides, old mothers.
where your children sing and run naked in their boots,
eyes shining and cheeks lacing pink. You run too,
fish run, fireweed pink as roe bloom, bloom as you.