Eco-static

I left you in the lake of my last memory. Your shoreline skimmed the top of my

mind and your breeze pixilated my world view into trees the size and texture of

thimbles, mountains lost and upside down, like a slide of my father on a 1950’s

camping trip. We never climbed the mountain, just rippled its face with small,

dark stones. Your hand was solid, warm, and the beginning. Now I crave you in

grainy color, in this crevice my knuckle fits into, the dusk-worn opposite of my

best summer.

Inspired by the photograph “Reflect” by Heidi Mae Niska.