there was an artist among the
construction workers and earthmovers
for two mirrored rows of trees
cast a braid of spiny shadows
an endless steam of hands
a silent vigil

spring buds raised proud
a London Plains christening
offered up to afternoon sky

brown eyes become a river’s bed,
blind current
draws me through him,
on subtle ripples
and soundless bends, his breath
forms, molds, moves
my thin black boulders, allows
cold, baby-blue water,
a virgin flow

lustful arms engulf blueberry cheeks
in glittered webbing
ka, kaa, a lone crow sings,
fragile exhales for us

top layer of river water,
a warm skin basking
bare breasts exposed,
kissed by slow wind
beneath
arid fingers
strumming
wordless hymnals

-esther bain