The Pond
Baby, form me.
Show me your shadow
on the way to the jungle. If we could get in a vehicle tonight
and kiss, my hand reaching for the overhead light,
you might say, "You are my shadow.
You are close and form me, but I have forgotten you
and moved into a blue cave, not a jungle." If we could abandon the van
by the pond where we first saw ducks, too close,
we’d duck our feathered heads
in each other’s shadow for another kiss hidden from the moonlight,
this time lasting, if loosened by our laughing
at a form we cannot keep, neither in shade nor in light,
away from the van, too close, but losing each other to the undefined
shadow, our separate minds sharing too much
of what cannot come to light,
hearing the ducks quack, gliders on the formless pond
that stops us on our way to the jungle.
on the way to the jungle. If we could get in a vehicle tonight
and kiss, my hand reaching for the overhead light,
you might say, "You are my shadow.
You are close and form me, but I have forgotten you
and moved into a blue cave, not a jungle." If we could abandon the van
by the pond where we first saw ducks, too close,
we’d duck our feathered heads
in each other’s shadow for another kiss hidden from the moonlight,
this time lasting, if loosened by our laughing
at a form we cannot keep, neither in shade nor in light,
away from the van, too close, but losing each other to the undefined
shadow, our separate minds sharing too much
of what cannot come to light,
hearing the ducks quack, gliders on the formless pond
that stops us on our way to the jungle.
if your shadow has not changed.
I wonder what light enters your blue cave,
if its wet rock walls amplify
those monosyllabic calls
of the ducks that made us pause
and joined our kissing shadows
before we started laughing.
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