Rooting up lilies from the cove, because we don't like

swimming through string and slime and they don't

blossom anyway, my fingers slide down stems

till I reach bottom, but there's no end to secrets,

my blind hand follows a slippery route, thumbing sand

under, over, feeling for when to pull, till finally

there's no more rope and I tug. Up comes a great, dripping

knot, bringing so much lake bottom with it

that my sister says, Rinse it off, let the mud float back

down and settle, but I haul the mess onto a rock

so it can bake in the sun and become the familiarity

of dry land, I never did like to open my eyes under

water, imagined them drowning, washing right out

of their little caves to become lake, watering

the water.

Ramifications seem to go on forever.

Whether you wanted us to stay by you

longer, hold you while you fought for breath. If

we'd known it was ending and how it would be to wonder,

month into month, and every summer the cove thickening

with stems that seem to know nothing about their

anchorage, that hold up their green eyes

drifting, open wide and free to the summer sun.