From a Place Other than the Lake
Where we meet: the coming together of surface: lakeskin. I see this just a little in the gather to the side of your mouth, as air made by the overhead fan tries to drive suburbia out from the bowl of fruit. We’re restless. If the world were altogether black and white, I could give you a strawberry and you would still know its color. We wish we could drive to Lake Michigan today. Here on the table is a nectarine, tie-dyed red and yellow. It might work instead of beach wind? It lapses for bite? I hold it for you, sure as place is a fineness in desire.