Larissa Szporluk
He loves what he cannot love,
lapping toward it, with the love
that exists between lakes, wanting each other
so much, wanting just to meet
inside themselves, taste the fish,
how deep is your gulch,
how vocal the fowl that visit you?
With unexpected tenderness,
that's how he lives, watching,
dreaming at night they grow close,
the forlorn part of their bodies
upswelling with swell, each pore frothed too,
morning forgotten, the message, war,
more sky in his mouth than water.
