Just a Body of Water

When all this blood I own rises to the surface,
this skin I own thins like an icy vernier
over winter-bellied trout.

Must you always test my strength.

Sliding one foot out,
listening for
                       fissures
                                      cracking
                                                        open.

Can’t we go inside where the fire casts shadows
and throws a hot white halo onto the floor.

With a slow trace up my inseam
you could melt us
into an antigravity summer.

Watch as the lake I’m hiding
                                                   floats
                                                   to the ceiling,

edges rippling,
but maintaining
a shape-shifting orb

housing clusters of minos,
           who
                       scatter
              and             regroup
                                                  under your touch,
their scales
glitter silver.

Slider turtles
pumping their legs,
                                                      boatmen beetles
                                                      release their tucked bubble
to sink
              towards
                              the center of
                                                       the room.

Above our heads they all watch
a feast of forgiveness
                                             fill
my waterless frame.

First published in Weber Journal, Vol. 40, Fall 2023