Mount Desert Island

The day was cold smelling with the sea
cradled into the harbor unmoving as if mermaids had stopped singing
long enough to listen to sunbathing barnacles
that dried their white feet into the shore’s black rock, clutching
tight even as waves pushed up against them, as if
they believed the sea were big and unnecessary,
lacking the warmth of the shore that I could feel through my back and then up
into my breath that barely fogged in the air as if remembering
the day you convinced me to jump into the expanse of Lake Superior
steaming in the morning air and the cold blue sucked the breath from
my lungs and you sat warmly on shore, knees tucked under your arms, fetal
in a warm womb, curled up and dissolving,
like my desire for you on the mountain that morning above Boulder with the sun rising
to meet snow and us in it with goose bumps
puckering in late November air,  beckoning to be discovered
by god who felt just a few thousand feet closer than normal
as if heaven could be found in the blue of that sky holding its breath
or the warm, pink light of sun humming up out of darkness.


This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s