Naomi Rhema Edwards - convexexile@yahoo.com
At the Thought of You
I took bittersweet all the way down
To where the wall and the water
Grind together as flesh
And the gut-rot of fish
Makes heavy the air
The lake spits burst pods
Of algae against the breakers
The rock wreathed in black strands
Glitters with fish hooks
And I think how the hands
Wane in their sockets
And the nails bleach
Or go dark with blood
Light through waves
In dull spectrum spread
And splayed
The face shrinks to a relic
The eyes sink down
And I don't remember
And gentleness
Empty jaw of concrete takes
The fisherman and his quiet
'There it goes, swing low'
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