The Lake

“There are no answers,” one lover said.
My reply was his heart in my hand
and he wept.

The answers wave to us
from across a still pool.

At the edge
our questions form a line
matching one for one
those on the other side.


At the bell,
                       you have begun.
Defer to the man on your left.
He has some answers. Move away.
You feel graceless, awkward as a fawn.

When you turn from the window
you find a different room.
The trees around the lake are familiar.
You reach for the door.


Beyond all hope, you look into a mirror
to find yourself; and you do:
reflected, perfect, shimmering
back and forth on the light, dancing
on the water, gliding
into the eyes of the reflection.
She looks at your face. You smile.
Everything is quiet. She touches
you without words, and her touch sings
over your skin like the water
and you dance to no music but her eyes.
When you embrace, the water is cool.
Under the surface, you make plans.
Still Water
Walk ahead of me. We will sit on your bed while we talk.
First you will listen as I explain why I came.
You will begin to understand that lives change
as a consequence of sharing or as a result of fear,
and that we have already chosen which of these will rule us.

There is no need for questions. Let the obvious answer:
destiny will make your hesitation apparent as you find it
in your reflection. Hesitation is behind you.
It was never a choice. Does your heart beat now?
Can you feel that? Do you remember last night
my hands smooth on your inner thigh,
finding my rhythm in the beat of the heart through the veins?

If you wait to answer, what you say will not satisfy you.
Already you see me here, and you know so many things are behind you.
There is a pressure from behind—it says be aware. I say
dive. I am below the surface watching you from the other level.
You have yet to hear my voice. I may be saying your name.