A LITTLE GARDENING
The dream seemed to be during some Civil War,
yet my side was unclear did that matter?
I was a prisoner chained to you:
a hazy, unworried captor.
It was then, while we were building a supply bridge,
that the tidal waters afforded a quick escape.
No one saw... though you wised up
as I was brushing by the bend.
Up through stark nettle trees
and hissing sharkskin grass blades
till to a swamp I came and dove in
where the occasional alligator grinned.
Under a skin of slim, sickly green, I waited
another den beginning to erode my body.
Soon I feel the string-plucked vibrations
of him, his feet, his heart sinking in mud.
A dark chip of bark appears with outreaching vines,
but I drag them down, choking this intrusion.
The water holds us, bubbles reluctant,
eyes gold-deepening; my hands ring this weed,
my mouth seals its rough, parted sepals,
and I steal breath... as the light steals away mine.
You diminish in stygian gloom,
and I clear the surface's wake.