lessons from water-striders 

the creek is deeper than it promises.
we were only children so we trusted 
our own reflections is the warbling water.
my crooked crooked teeth. your crooked crooked nose.
rocks below have children
& those children are playing
rendezvous with the meadow ghosts.
a fish hook is waiting 
on the other side of every swim.
flyleaf lips in the reeds. fisherman 
crouching with his little tackle box 
& his little golden wedding ring.
he wants to catch an angel. slice her open
on the fire. fresh white meat. he has 
a buoy knife he loves more than 
all other bodies. he doesn't know anything
about quilting. all surfaces 
are staircases or sleeping bags. 
we learned to walk with our hands 
in our pockets simply stepping 
on the water membrane. how have
you learned to make yourself lighter?
first we'd empty our pockets
& then we'd empty our thoughts,
counting backwards & forwards.
all rivers don't lead to the ocean.
some become highways & other become 
parables. from the banks 
deer gathered & wept, wanting 
our grace. the fisherman worked 
until his bones were bare 
& only his skeleton labored.
secretly, i caught an angel
one afternoon. i wound her tight
& stuffed her in a pocket. the weight
made me fall into the water
& now i am just a minnow.
a humming body down below but 
i still have a pocket & i still
have the memory of one single leg.
i'm coming back in due time.