Its been an hour since I floated
on my back– the sky a blindfold,
lungs a raft. My fingers scanned
the teabrown cool, and yanked the cords
of lily pads. We choked the surface,
scooping breath in oily rounds¬–
a dialogue that drowns the sound
of helicopters overhead.
(You float like this to get rescued.)
Impromptu yoga, bend and tilt
the waterway, entice the tiny
farewell dribble, earlobe lick.