My lake grows its own soft shoes
where land nurses water. Muck--
half silt, half rotted algae--
smiles round the shore.
Hush. Splash. Rile.
My lake thins, the bank lifts warm.
O, hushed robe. Black
home on my belly: dozing, waiting.
Once, I dreamed the sun light changed,
shifted. Something slopped. Slid
near. Something pale blinked
a blue eye. Slid nearer alligator-like,
yawned its infinite-toothed grin.
When I awoke,
Jose Blanco, the white alligator,
was black like me.
all crows are black.
All shadows are dark.
FIELD, (Fall, 2006)