2nd Draft of Something New

Swimming in Lake Champlain, September 19th 2007

Running down the shore and straight into the shallow
(cold and sharp and smelling of rain),
water, splashing each other in the dark, the drops glint

bright as the stars burning white from up above, the Seven
(light so fierce, the stars drown out the moon—or keep it hidden),
Sisters approve of our loud acknowledgements of beauty

which simply could not be captured with cameras, the words
(early autumn air mixed with summer sand, everything white and black),
we say fill us again with life sucked out by daily monotonies

breaking us over and over, but these moments of cold sharp
(fleeting, skin prickling, feet freezing against rough sand, rocks, pavement),
contentments remind us again of what lives in the lake, and the forest

as the autumn equinox pulls us toward winter, we splash water
(hitting us with frosted sparkles, knives against the skin leaving no marks),
and submerge, remembering how much we are in love with this earth.

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I keep writing about the water. Does that mean something? Maybe I am having an urgent water crisis...needing the ocean...rivers, brooks, anything but the cement sidewalks of Burlington. I think I need to go home and sleep outside in the grass.

On a different note, Lolita is becoming an obsession as I travel further into the novel. When I finally finish reading the monster, I will write a whole post about it and bore my nonexistant readers to death with my unoriginal thoughts. But Nobokov intrigues me and his writing style is fatally delicious. Delicious like beautiful prose (roses) and fatal like pediphiles with eyes like knives.

Love,
Willow~