Читать книгу & in Open, Marvel - Felicia Zamora - Страница 15

Alone at the Lake

How often your mind mirrors the lake,

surface frozen, mid ripple.

What was once water

rips from sand at the seam—

to be unstitched; bits of you

scatter & resemble seeds

dried & un-sowable. Beyond shore

depths teem. What keeps

a body held in? Sewn breath

of January wrinkles thoughts

here—where buoys strew

float-less & sad—a crime

scene in wait of discovery.

You want to believe

a shore may stretch forever,

guarded circumference of self

looping in & around a body

immobilized; the amygdala

disobeys dormancy, streams

memory without consent.

& you say “undone” & “regret”

as part of language the cerebral cortex

muddled out of nothing

to understand, and yet—an echo