Near the receding edge of lily-infested Goose Lake, in the brambly shadows just beyond the dense growth of Wapato now in flower, there’s a casual assemblage of Bittersweet nightshade. The shoreline, such as it is, and visible nowhere, has retreated about forty feet — normal for the time of year — at this one remaining place of access. On the far side, seen through one gap, is another colony of Wapato, several yards deep and a great many long; the plants we are standing near are now three to four feet tall.
The sandal soles are nine millimeters thick. The toes are free to roam; the feet rejoice in every rock and stick. It’s a two-and-a-half-mile massage. One’s strength grows with every step.
August 3, 2021
Is This Where?
Is this a window, or a mirror?
Are these flowers, or thoughts?
Is this grass, or your hair?
And the path? and the dew?
Oh, where, where do we go, from here?
Recently Banned Literature, August 23, 2016
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