Summertime in field pond.
Water moccasin drowsingunder stone bridge.
Water lily parade, algaepond scum providing
the tapestry effect.
It's 90 degrees and we swimin half trance
memories sluicing into
present time then
We are actors in a filmbeing shot by
Beginnings ends the reelsslithering on and on.
We dive to bottom and walkthe mud floor past
turtles barely noticing.
Tough to resurface and beginall over again.
But Joanna I say.
Did we come to this.How do we climb out and
twist the calendar
into some sort of
Where our love,our carefully crafted words
of a somewhat I-Thou.
Joanna saying only:
we don't know whats aroundthe next corner,
don't know what we;ll find
if we come here next winter
and scratch for what weleft behind,
what we lost here.
If we light a fire,which way might
Doug Bolling's poetry has appeared in Poetalk, Blue Unicorn, Tribeca Poetry Review, Hurricane Review, Indefinite Space, Illuminations, Iodine Poetry Journal and Convergence among others.
He has received three Pushcart Prize nominations and currently resides outside Chicago in Flossmoor, Illinois. His poetry has been both experimental and traditional.
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