What a reprieve from all this stultifying heat.
And all the threats implicit in that heat:
the sweep and snare of blackberry,
razor barb of concertina wire.
The bluish teasel nearly chafed you
with its bracts.
You’ve made it through some muck
with your absolute body
still intact. So far,
the Camp Far West lakewater is barely blue.
That might make two of you.
Who is the other whom you seek?
They found a body in this lake; it wasn’t his;
it wasn’t yours. And so the shore
persists in summoning you.
He may be waiting.
His body hasn’t lost any allure.
& nor has yours.
But sorry is the heart
that knows
what’s round the bend.