eighteen ninety.

four to form

form poured into body
in the light of every dawn

sleeping or no
something is on

in time

i float


stood on ground

when on wing

up or down

with head spinning round

once i flew;

now in water

i gasp

chased by birds under boats

under my belly
under my toes

without my knowing

to float in front of me

chased me and won

i screamed
swam hard

lengthy backstroke

damn loons

beautiful with song

but teeth on

flyers who swim

is nothing i want.

dec 4, 2018 poem i wrote tonight about the loon that chased me while i swam at bearnstow years ago; image from my visit in 2017 – nicole garlando